


Supergirl Pride Month Prompt Fills, 2019

by SandstoneSunspear



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandstoneSunspear/pseuds/SandstoneSunspear
Summary: A bunch of prompts for Pride Month that I hope to fill in a timely manner.





	1. Identity Shenanigans - Director Sanvers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping in on day four with a Captain Marvel!AU. Hope y'all enjoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Supreme Intelligence thinks it knows who Vers is, but Vers is the one who truly knows who she is.

Vers awoke to the void of the Supreme Intelligence. Once, it was a sight that sparked feelings of awe and honour. Kree were rarely granted audiences with the leader of the people, after all. Now, though, all it did was fill her stomach with dread.

The Supreme Intelligence’s voice sounded from behind her, “You did good, Ace. Thanks to your efforts, those insidious shapeshifters will trouble our borders no more.”

Vers lunged, fist pulled back and ready to strike at the Supreme Intelligence. She didn’t make it far before a searing pain shot through her neck. She crumpled less than a foot away from it.

“You know, I used to believe your lies,” she wheezed, “but the Skrulls and the Green Martians, they’re just fighting for a home. You’re talking about destroying them just because they won’t submit to your rule.” She pushed herself up to her feet and swayed. “And neither will I.”

The Supreme Intelligence laughed. It was a sound that made Vers’ stomach twist. “We found you,” it said. “We embraced you as our own.”

Vers’ fists clenched. “You stole me!” she spat. “From my home, from my family, from the people I love!”

_Soft lips on hers, on her neck, trailing down her stomach. Warmth. Laughter. Love. Love love love–_

The Supreme Intelligence sighed. It took a step forward.

Vers moved to charge again. This time, her fist connected, only to get stuck. She tried to pull it back but it wouldn’t budge. Before she could do anything else, she found herself flying through the air. Several seconds later, she slammed into a wall so hard, it knocked the wind out of her.

The Supreme Intelligence’s boots clipped across the floor. “It’s cute how hard you try. But remember,” it placed a knuckle under Vers’ chin, “without us, you’re weak.”

Vers snarled, but didn’t have the chance to say anything before the wall enveloped her. Then, she was falling. She saw snippets of her life, the life that the Kree had stolen from her.

_A broken surfboard and boys laughing. “This isn’t a place for little girls!_

_A split lip and Eliza lecturing her once again. “Really, Alexandra?”_

_Men in rubber aprons and goggles sneering at her. “This lab’s for guys only, Danvers!”_

_Smouldering wreckage. Blood drips from her nose. Everything hurts. She can’t get up._

_Her making the leap for a rope and missing, falling falling falling–_

Vers hit the floor with a thud. She gasped. She did her best to fight back tears, pretending they were from the impact rather than her memories.

“You’re flawed. Helpless. We saved you.” The Supreme Intelligence’s voice was soft, almost comforting. Once upon a time, Vers would have believed it. “Without us, you’re only human.”

Vers exhaled. She closed her eyes.

_A little boy with curly hair and bright eyes full of laughter. Two women with warm smiles, cocky smirks, and eyes full of love._

_Soft lips on hers, on her neck, trailing down her stomach. Warmth. Laughter. Love. Love love love–_

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m only human.”

_She dives into the waves again with Jeremiah’s surfboard and tears through them with ease. She pulls the jump and soars. This time, the laughter is hers._

_Her fist connecting with Rick Malvern’s face. “You ever say that to my sister again, I’ll break more than your nose!”_

_She smirks at the curses she hears around her. She’s the only one to get product yield, and it’s above 50%. “Well I’ll be damned, Danvers,” the lab coordinator says. “That’s the best I’ve seen in years.”_

_The sun is blazing above her. She counts to three and gets to her feet. The jeers of male cadets fall silent. She glares up at the rope and reaches out for it. She pulls herself up and climbs._

_Smouldering wreckage. Blood drips from her nose. Everything hurts, but she rises to her feet, defiant._

Vers pushed herself up. She could feel defiance thrumming just beneath the surface as she glared at the Supreme Intelligence.

“On Hala, you were reborn,” it said. “Vers.” It sounded so pleased when it said that name. Vers hated it even more than its laugh and its attempts at comfort.

She glanced down at the metal tag in her hand. VERS stared back at her.

_I don’t even know who I am anymore!_

_You’re Alex Danvers, the woman in that black box risking her life to do the right thing, the woman we love!_

Vers’ jaw clenched. She looked up at the Supreme Intelligence, who still had a smug look etched onto its face.

_Soft lips on hers, on her neck, trailing down her stomach. Warmth. Laughter. Love. Love love love–_

“My name,” she said, “is Alex.”  



	2. Fairytale!AU feat. nb!Alex and Hellhound!Gert - Director Sanvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A non-binary prince-turned knight and their hellhound go to fight a cissexist dragon. Then it gets gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I might've been a bit too ambitious in thinking that I'd get these chapters out on time. Apologies. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Samuel Lane, King of Smallville, had a headache. He had given his daughter to the dragon that terrorised the many kingdoms of the land to keep it from destroying _his_ kingdom. Unfortunately, his people loved Lucy more than they loved him and so, to prevent a revolt, he had lied to them and told them that the dragon had kidnapped her. It worked to keep the people from seeking his throat, but led them to demand that he send for a hero to rescue her. As king, Sam was not a man who considered himself at the whims of those he ruled over, but he knew that a lack of action on his part could also spark rebellion. Thus, he put out a call for a hero to try and get her back.

That had been a month ago. In that time, dozens of knights had gone to try and rescue Lucy, but none had succeeded.

Which was why he found himself staring down at yet another knight.

“Who is this knight that comes before me to answer my call, Harper?” he asked.

Lord James Harper cleared his throat and looked over the scroll in his hands. His eyes widened at the name. “Alexandra of House Danvers, Princess of--”

“It’s Alex,” the knight interrupted, “and it’s _Prince._ ”

Sam raised an eyebrow while Harper sputtered at the interruption. He leaned forward. “I wasn’t aware that the ruling house of Midvale contained a son.”

If he had, he would have arranged a marriage between Lucy and said son ages ago.

“It doesn’t, I am the eldest of my house, but neither a woman nor a man,” Alex said.

Sam’s eyebrow rose even higher at that. “Then what are you?” he asked.

Alex shrugged. “A prince, a knight, maybe a hero, who can say?”

Were anyone else to give him such a blase response, Sam would have them executed on the spot. But he wanted his daughter back and the dragon dead. Cutting down the self-styled Prince of Midvale would give him neither of those outcomes. If anything, it had the potential to doom Lucy and spark war between Smallville and Midvale.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Harper reddening with fury at the nonchalant Midvale royal. He raised his hand to stop his advisor from exploding. “Your presence in my court says that you are here to answer my call and rescue my daughter. Is this true?” he asked.

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

He leaned back into his throne. “I’ve had many knights before you come into my halls for the same purpose,” he said. “As you can see, none of them have succeeded. How do you think you will succeed where they have failed?”

A small smirk appeared on Alex’s lips. “Midvale is known for the impossible, Your Majesty, and as its prince, you can expect the impossible from me.”

Sam nodded. “Then expect the impossible I shall, Princess--”

“It’s _Prince._ ”

He continued as if Alex hadn’t interrupted him, “Slay the dragon who kidnapped my daughter and return her to me, and you shall be rewarded.”

Alex gave him a curt, half-bow but said nothing. They turned on their heel and marched out of the hall, leaving silence in their wake.

-

Gertrude’s growls were the first sign that something bad was coming. Seconds later, an inhuman roar caught Alex’s ears. They looked up in time to see a giant red dragon approaching. They and the hellhound quickly dove into the bushes and watched as the dragon flew past.

Alex glanced over the bush they were crouched behind. To their dismay, their eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on them. Perched atop the tower in the middle of the open field was a dragon, an honest to god dragon. They thought Kara had been kidding when she told them that Smallville had dragons.

Alex shifted ever so slightly to try and get a better view of the area without exposing themself. They felt a branch catch under their heel moments before they settled into position.

It snapped under their foot.

Alex winced.

 _“Who goes there?”_ a deep voice thundered.

Alex’s jaw dropped. It talked. Of course the damn dragon talked. They didn’t know why they were so surprised. They had a hellhound for a companion. Granted, she didn’t talk, but still. A talking dragon wasn’t the most ludicrous thing Alex had ever encountered.

 _“Who dares to enter my domain?”_ it continued. _“What stupid creature dares to face my wrath this time?”_

Alex reached down, picked up half of the branch they had stepped on, and threw it out into the open. They let out a shout, “I do!”

A gout of flame reduced the branch to ash.

 _“I’ll not stand parlor tricks!”_ the dragon roared. _“Show yourself, mortal!”_

Alex shared a grimace with Gertrude. They gripped the hilt of their sword and carefully made their way out from behind the bushes. They approached the tower, but signaled for Gertrude to stay a few paces behind them.

_“Who are you, mortal? What is your business here?”_

Alex drew themself up. “I am Prince Alex of Midvale,” they said, “and I’m here to rescue the princess you’ve kidnapped!”

The dragon laughed. Alex couldn’t stop themself from flinching at the noise. The dragon’s laughter was worse than its roars.

_“Kidnapped? Smallville’s king gave her to me willingly, to spare his land from my wrath. I quite enjoy her company, and that of the other princess in my custody.”_

Alex blinked. “What do you mean ‘other princess?’” they asked slowly.

The dragon gave Alex a smile that was all teeth. Even from the distance they were at and the sunlight shining above them, the darkness in the smile made both Alex and Gertrude take a step back.

 _“The king and queen of Blue Springs gifted her to me to remove the shame her proclivities caused,”_ the dragon said. _“Her fear is so delicious. I’ll not relinquish her, nor will I release Smallville’s princess.”_

Alex’s grip tightened around the hilt of their sword. “I’m not leaving without them,” they said, “and I’m more than happy to defeat you to make that happen.”

The dragon’s smile grew even darker. This time, Alex stood their ground. _“You mortals are such fools,”_ it crooned. _“I cannot be defeated by a man!”_

Alex drew their sword. “Good thing I’m not a man, then,” they said.

 _“My kind learn from their mistakes,”_ it hissed and reared back. The way its throat lurched was the only warning Alex had before it spat fire at them. _“No woman can defeat me either!”_

Alex took half a step back and shouted, “Gert!”

Gertrude let out a loud woof and raced towards Alex. Alex held their hand out and remained steady, even with the fire roaring down towards them. They closed their eyes as thick black smoke enveloped them.

The trip lasted all of five seconds. Alex still swayed on their feet, though, when Gertrude dropped out of transport roughly forty feet away from where they had been standing. They recovered just in time to see the ground explode from the force of the fireball. It sent them and Gertrude flying.

Alex rolled to their feet, narrowly avoiding another blast. They grabbed Gertrude. “Up!” they ordered.

The two of them vanished in another puff of black smoke. Alex reappeared in the air right above the dragon, sword pulled back and ready to strike.

 _“No woman nor man can defeat me!”_ the dragon thundered. It reared back, ready to throw more fire at the falling prince-turned knight.

“I got news for you!” Alex drove their sword through its head before it could unleash another blast of fire. “I’m no woman either!”

Alex gave their sword one final twist, drawing a choked noise from the dragon, then yanked it out and jumped down onto the roof. They landed and rolled before quickly popping back up on their feet. A rumble caught their attention. They glanced over their shoulder to see the dragon’s corpse pitch over the side of the roof. Seconds later, the whole tower shook when the body impacted the earth.

Alex winced. They let out a sigh and closed their eyes before counting to ten. A woosh told them that Gertrude was back. They sheathed their sword, turned back to the two princesses, and felt their brain screech to a halt. The women in front of them were _beautiful_. One of them had striking green eyes that seemed to pierce Alex right to their core, while the other’s eyes had a steel and defiance behind them.

Alex startled when they felt a cold, bony nose nudge their hand. They glanced down at Gertrude, who shot a look of exasperation up at them. They swallowed and looked back up at the two princesses.

“Prince Alex of Midvale,” they stammered out.

The princess with striking green eyes looked rather unimpressed. “Princess Lucy of Smallville,” she said. She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t aware that the ruling house of Midvale had--”

“A son? It doesn’t,” Alex said.

The princess that Alex hadn’t planned on rescuing, spoke up, “I’d heard that the kingdom of Midvale was rather liberal about things like that.”

There was something odd colouring her tone, like she was both bitter about Midvale’s reputation but also in awe of it. It made Alex’s brow furrow.

“My father used to say that the people of Midvale are as free as the sea,” they said.

“Sounds nice. Blue Springs isn’t like that.” The bitterness came through clear with that statement.

It finally clicked for Alex. “You’re Princess Margarita--”

She cut them off, “It’s _Maggie_ , just Maggie. And I’m no longer a princess, not if my parents have anything to say about it. My placement here should make that pretty obvious.”

“So your parents really did send you here,” Alex said. They glanced at Lucy. “And your father did as well?”

Both women nodded.

“My parents thought it best to remove me from Blue Springs, so that I wouldn’t have a ‘corrupting’ influence on my younger sister,” Maggie said. “So when they heard about the dragon, they figured they’d try to earn its goodwill preemptively and give me to it.”

Alex felt lost all over again. “Corrupting? What do you do, magic?” They knew that not all kingdoms held favourable views regarding those who were magically inclined.

They didn’t miss the way seemed to tense at their question. “I don’t like men,” Maggie said.

Ah.

Alex nodded. They could see why that could be a problem in a place like Blue Springs, especially for someone slated to be the next in line for the throne.

“If we’re announcing preferences like this, then let me just say, I like both men and women,” Lucy said. She aimed a look at Alex. “And you too, you’re pretty cute.”

Alex looked away and coughed, “Thank you, I think.” Their cheeks felt hotter than the first time Gertrude had licked their face.

“Never been called cute before?” Maggie asked.

“I have!” Alex said immediately. “Just, not by beautiful women--”

In the background, Gertrude let out a heavy, exasperated sigh.

“You think we’re beautiful?” Luck asked.

Alex immediately started sputtering, “No! I mean, yes, but--”

They stopped abruptly fell silent when the sound of Maggie’s laughter registered with their ears. It wasn’t unkind; instead, it was warm. She looked happy. From the way Lucy’s lips twitched into a small smile and quickly concealed look of awe on her face, Alex guessed it was the first time Lucy had heard Maggie laugh. It made Alex smile.

Eventually, Maggie’s laughter tapered off, but happiness on her face remained. She grinned at Alex. “I’ve got to agree with Lucy, you’re adorable.”

Alex felt their fading blush come back to their cheeks with a vengeance. They rubbed the back of their head, muttering, “Just don’t go spreading it around, I have a reputation to maintain.”

Maggie winked at them. “Your secret’s safe with us, Alex,” she said. “Can’t have it be known that the Prince of Midvale, Slayer of a dragon, is so easily flustered by two beautiful women.”

Beside Alex, Gertrude let out a noise that was somewhere between a bark and a cough. Alex knew that their partner was laughing at them.

They scowled down at her. “Whose side are you on here?” they grumbled.

She nuzzled their hand in apology.

Alex sighed. “Asshole,” they said. They scraped their nails against her skull nonetheless, drawing a wide canine grin from the hellhound.

Lucy coughed. “Not to ruin whatever atmosphere we have going on, but now what?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

Lucy shrugged. “I mean, what’s your next plan? The dragon is dead, you saved us, and you’re the only one who knows the truth about why me and Maggie are here,” she said.

Alex looked off into the distance. They had been around long enough, been ‘different’ long enough, to know to read in between the lines. They knew what Lucy was really asking: was Alex’s next step to give Lucy back to her father, and bring Maggie back to a family that had cast her aside, or was there something else in the works?

“I’d say,” they started, “that my plan is for you two to come back with me. To Midvale.”

Maggie and Lucy both blinked.

“You realise you barely even know us, right?” Maggie asked.

“I’d like to get to know the both of you better,” Alex said, “and if you come with me, I can do just that. We all can.”

“My father will never let me leave, not if it means losing his last bargaining chip,” Lucy said.

“Then we give him something that he needs: an alliance,” they said simply. “Both Smallville and Blue Springs need them, and they’re going to need to save face once word reaches your respective capitals that I’ve rescued you."

Lucy scoffed, “That’ll never work.”

“I think it will.” Alex looked at the both of them. “Word in the taverns is that your father is desperate to secure an alliance between Smallville and another kingdom, but it’s been hard going because your sister eloped with some lowborn knight instead of going through with her betrothal to Prince Lex of Metropolis. And word about you,” they nodded to Maggie, “being missing hasn’t gone out. What kind of rumours do you think your parents will have to deal with when it comes out that their heir was missing and no one knew? They can’t plead ignorant.”

Alex watched realisation dawn on Maggie’s face.  

“So instead of asking for a reward outright, your plan is to make them think they’re saving face by agreeing to an alliance with Midvale,” she whispered.

Alex nodded. “Exactly,” they said. “Lucy’s father gets the alliance that he needs, your parents get to think that they’re sending you away, and the both of you get to stop being pawns in someone else’s game.”

“And yet, we’d still be pawns in _your_ game,” Lucy said.

Alex laughed. “My game starts when we enter your father’s hall and ends when the two of you enter Midvale,” they said. “Before that and after that, it’s entirely up to the two of you. When I said I wanted to get to know the two you better, I meant it, but only if you’re up for it.”

Alex waited and held their breath as they waited for a response from Maggie and Lucy. They knew what they had proposed was unorthodox, but they couldn’t find it in themself to care. They knew just how lucky they had it, being the Prince of Midvale. They were practically living their own fairytale just by being able to live as they wished. Maggie and Lucy didn’t have that and Alex wanted to give that to the both of them. They wanted to see that spark of happiness on Maggie’s face again, wanted Lucy’s striking green eyes to see that she was more than just a bargaining chip for her father.

Maggie was the first one to speak. “Okay,” she said.

Alex blinked. “Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll come with you.” Her gaze grew distant, as if she was seeing something far beyond either Lucy and Alex. “I’ve always heard things about Midvale. I want to see if they’re true.”

 _They are_ , Alex wanted to say. But they held themself back. Instead they looked to Lucy and raised an eyebrow. “What about you?”

Lucy smirked. Alex unconsciously swallowed at the sight. “I’m in,” she said. “Just promise me one thing before we start all of this?”

“What is it?” Alex asked.

“Promise me that this’ll work.” For a brief moment, Alex saw vulnerability. It made them realise that as much as Lucy wanted the freedom this could bring her, she also wanted her kingdom to prosper.

Alex grinned at her. “Midvale is known for making the impossible, possible,” they said. “This will work.”

Lucy nodded. “All right, then. I’m holding you to that then, Alex.”

Maggie came up to Alex’s side. “We both are,” she said.

Alex nodded. “I certainly hope so, I’d be both a very poor prince and a very poor knight if my word meant nothing.” They held their hand out for Gertrude. “Ready Gert?”

Gertrude let out a loud bark.

They fisted their hand through the thick smoke of her body. “Let’s go home.”

Black smoke rose up to cover all of them. Alex closed their eyes. Then, they were gone.


	3. Discovery - Supercorp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth will out.

Kara thinks she discovers the truth about Lena on a Tuesday. 

It’s an entirely accidental discovery. Lena’s stepped out of the office to take a call and Kara’s left on the couch waiting for her to come back. She was never good at being patient. It’s only a few moments of silence before Kara starts to feel antsy, a few more before her knee starts to bounce, and by the time two minutes is up, Kara is pacing.  

It takes two circuits around Lena’s office before Kara notices what Lena has pulled up on her computer. At first, she thinks Lena’s watching a YouTube video. A closer glance makes her stomach drop. The face on the screen is Lex. 

Her eyes flick down at the legal pad Lena had been scratching away at before she arrived. The writing is in Gaelic, but Kara can read Gaelic. She can read and speak just about every language out there. She feels a pit open up in her stomach as she reads. The rhetoric she reads makes her want to vomit.

She doesn’t get the chance to. She hears the door click, a sign of Lena’s return. By the time Lena’s walks inside, Kara’s back on the couch. The not-so-small part of her that is crushing on Lena wants to give the Luthor heiress the benefit of the doubt. But the rest of her, the Kryptonian raised on earth who had watched news coverage of Lex’s repeated attempts on Kal’s life, can’t. Instead, she plasters a smile on her face and does her best to act like nothing’s wrong.

Everything is wrong.  

It’s a Thursday when Lillian releases the Medusa virus. 

Kara watches in horrified despair as the missile explodes. Watches the smug, victorious smile on Lillian’s face widen as Alex screams into her comms for medical support. Watches as that smile turns into confusion, then disbelief as she and J’onn remain breathing.

“You swapped the isotope.”

“I did.” There’s something in Lena’s voice that has Kara’s head snapping to her. She feels her stomach flutter at the sight of Lena’s calm smirk. “I also took the liberty of calling the police.”

“You—”

“Won. Yes, I did.” Kara watches Lena take a step towards Lilian. “I beat you, and I beat him.”

The look on Lilian’s face turns ugly. Kara’s in between them before Lilian can do anything. She can feel Lena’s gaze burning into her back as her fists tighten, ready to knock the head of Cadmus into the next century. Before she can though, NCPD’s finest roll up on scene and slap cuffs on the Luthor matriarch.

The look on Lena’s face is relieved and sad all at the same time. It makes Kara’s stomach clench. 

“Thank you for standing in my defense, Supergirl,” Lena says. 

“Of course,” Kara says, “it’s what I do, after all.”

Lena gives her a wry smile. “Right,” she says, “Supers are super and Luthors are—“

“Super!” Kara blurts out before she can stop herself. In the background, she can hear the sound of Alex’s palm meeting her forehead. “You’re super, um, super awesome! For what you did.”

Inwardly, Kara wants to smack herself. English might not be her first language, but she knows she’s better with words than this. She’s a journalist for Rao’s sake! 

Lena ducks her head. Red stains her cheeks. Kara thinks it makes her look adorable. 

“You’re too kind,” Lena says.

Kara bites her lip, a move that goes unseen by Lena. She wants to argue that she hasn’t been kind enough, nor fair enough to Lena, that she’s guilty of doing all the same things that the rest of the public has, that she stopped giving Lena the benefit of the doubt just because of her name. 

What she does instead, though, is take a step closer to Lena. She can feel her own breath hitch due to the close proximity that she’s now in, but she keeps her face calm. 

“I have to ask,” Kara whispers, “but you, you never planned to—“

She can’t bring herself to finish the question. Not after having just called Lena super awesome.

Lena shakes her head in vehement denial. The hurt that flashes through her eyes feels like a stab in the gut for Kara.

“My plan was always to stop her, I swear.”

Kara places her hand on Lena’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I believe you.” It’s not a complete truth, but it’s not an outright lie either. Until she hears it as  _ Kara _ and not Supergirl, Kara can’t fully believe Lena.

The smile that Lena gives her is radiant. Somehow, seeing it creates more pain in Kara’s gut than the hurt look Lena gave her.

It’s Friday when the real truth comes out.

It doesn’t come out in the paper or in a tabloid or even in one of those stupid gossip rags that Kara occasional buys to read and laugh at. No, it comes out in Lena’s office.

Kara shows up at Lena’s office under the pretenses of an interview for CatCo. (She’s the only journalist that Lena has agreed to meet with). The way Lena’s eyes light up at the sight of her has Kara biting her lip. She tries to convince herself that the action is due to nerves rather than guilt.

It doesn’t work.

“I’m glad that you’re okay,” Kara says. Okay might be a stretch though. To anyone else, Lena is the picture of poise. Her cheeks are rosy, her clothes are impeccable, there’s not a hair out of place. But Kara knows better, can see better. There are shadows under Lena’s eyes and there’s an air of exhaustion that Kara can feel even from the distance that she’s at. 

“Yeah,” Lena sighs, “I am too.”

“Supergirl stopped by,” Kara says. She doesn’t miss the way Lena tenses at her words. “She said you were a hero.”

Lena’s eyebrows jump. “She said that?”

Kara nods. “Yeah.” It’s not a lie. She had said those words while arguing with Alex and J’onn the night after Lillian’s attempt at genocide. 

Lena sits back. There’s something in her eyes, relief, awe, grief? Kara can’t quite tell. 

“You know, I was certain she would change her mind,” Lena says absently.

Kara’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“She told me I was super, can you imagine that? A super Luthor?” Kara can. The woman behind the desk is incredible. “But having to parrot Lex’s horrific rhetoric and pretending to help my mother commit genocide, those aren’t the actions of someone who’s super. They’re the actions of a  _ Luthor _ .”

Kara doesn’t think she’s ever heard Lena say her last name with such disdain. She comes behind the desk and crouches down. “And why should those two things not be synonymous?” she asks.

The brilliant smile from earlier turns bitter. Lena stands and moves to look out the window. Kara stays in her position, waiting to see what will come next.

“My brother sent me videos the day of the attack.” Kara blinks at how random the statement sounds. “I didn’t get them until a week after. American postal system at it’s finest.”

That must’ve been the video Lena had open on her computer just days earlier. Still, Kara plays dumb and asks, “What kind of videos?” 

“The kind made by a man so consumed with hate that he can’t even see that what he’s doing is wrong. Or maybe he can, he just doesn’t care anymore.”

Kara can understand that. Non had been the same way, even right up to the end. 

Lena sighs, “They’re how I was able to fool my mother into thinking that I was on her side. I just had to parrot his rhetoric and she ate it up.” Her fist tights almost imperceptibly, but Kara catches the movement like she catches every other little detail of Lena. “She had this look of pride in her eye when I was talking to her and all I could think about was how much I wanted to vomit. I told her that I was willing to help her commit an act of genocide, to kill  _ innocent people _ and all she did was smile  _ just like Lex. _ ”

The ragged note her voice takes at the end is all the warning Kara has before Lena slides down the glass. Before Lena’s knees can meet the carpet, Kara is by her side, holding her. Kara says nothing as Lena tucks her head into her shoulder. She closes her eyes, tightens her hold and lets Lena cry. Kara can feel her heart breaking with each shuddered sob Lena lets out. She understands that kind of grief, the kind that comes when a person you’ve placed on a pedestal turns out to be a monster.

Kara thinks about the article she needs to write. She’ll leave out Lena’s tears, but make her grief and her humanity clear. She’ll make sure that everyone knows just what kind of person Lena really is: someone just trying to make up for all the pain and misery her family has caused, and trying to put a little good back into the world. She’s a hero.

Kara rubs Lena’s back. “You’re my hero,” she whispers into Lena’s hair. 

And it’s the truth, the real truth.


	4. Underground - Sanvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Country music singer!AU with gaydisaster!Alex and exhausted!Vasquez at an underground bar.

“You know, there are times that I really wish you were like other stars,” Vasquez grumbled under their breath. 

Alex took a sip of her scotch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

Vasquez scoffed. “Most people that I’ve worked security for, they’ll go to a bar or a club, get hammered, and probably end up on Page Six, but you,” they raised their beer in her direction, “you take us to a place that’s a fucking security nightmare.”

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” she said.

They rolled their eyes. “I’m your chief of security, Alex, it’s kind of my  _ job _ .”

“You could’ve sent Demos, or even Winn,” Alex pointed out.

“Please, you’d probably break Demos’ nose before the night was up and they’d eat Winn alive in a place like this,” they said. 

Inwardly, Alex had to agree. Out of all the people under Vasquez’s command, Demos was one of her least favourites. The man was good at what he did, but he was also an ass. If she hadn’t seen just how competent he was, she would have asked Vasquez to dismiss him ages ago. Winn, on the other hand, she liked a bit more. He was a good kid, if not a slightly odd choice for a security company. He struck her as the type of guy who would be more at home doing cyber security instead of running surveillance.

Vasquez continued, “At least at a place like Noonan’s, I can coordinate with their own security team.”

“For the umpteenth time, Vas, it’s  _ fine _ ,” Alex said.

“It’s not fine! We’re in a dive bar that’s literally underground, listening to I don’t even know what kind of music this is!”

Alex sighed. “First, we’re only slightly underground, like 10, maybe 20 feet, second, this is country and folk music, like honest to god country and folk music.”

Vasquez blinked. “This doesn’t sound anything like your music,” they said.

As much as Alex wanted to be annoyed by their comment, she knew it was true. The music that Vasquez heard her play at concert after concert was more pop country than the country music she had grown up on.

She shrugged. “It’s why I like it here,” she said. “The music here’s memory music, the stuff I grew up on. And as a bonus, no screaming fans who want an autograph every ten seconds. Just me, my beer, and my hapless chief of security.”

Vasquez punched her in the shoulder. “Asshole,” they said without any real heat behind the word.

Alex just grinned. Before she could say anything else, movement up on stage caught her eye. She looked past Vasquez to see a new singer step up. There was a soft murmur that rumbled through the bar crowd. 

“Alright, people, next up is Sawyer, who’s finally back with us after a long hiatus,” the bartender, M’gann if Alex remembered the name correctly, announced.

Even from spot at the bar, Alex caught the eye-roll Sawyer did. The look of exasperation on Sawyer’s face that followed said eye-roll was adorable. It made Alex grin. It was obvious enough that Sawyer was a regular. And, if the way people sat up a little straighter to catch a glimpse at the stage was anything to go by, she was also well-liked. Still, Alex decided to reserve judgement until she heard Sawyer’s voice for herself.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, it’s not my fault that crime never seems to take a break, M’gann,” Sawyer said.

Laughter rumbled throughout the bar.

“She’s a cop,” Vasquez muttered.

Alex didn’t take her eyes off of Sawyer. “Good cop, or bad cop?” she asked.

“I mean, she’s brown, probably queer if that flannel is anything to go by, and she’s in a dingy underground bar on a Friday night,” they said. “So I’d say probably a good cop. Or at least a better cop that most.”

Alex hummed. She leaned back against the bar and watched Sawyer strum a few opening notes, likely to test if everything was as it should be. She closed her eyes as Sawyer took a step closer to the mike. Then, Sawyer’s voice washed across the crowd.

Sawyer’s voice started soft. There was a rawness underneath it that drew Alex in. The more Sawyer got into her song, the quieter the bar got. 

Alex opened her eyes when she noticed a twang start to slip in while Sawyer sang, one that hadn’t been present during the brief moments when she and M’gann had exchanged banter. Sawyer’s eyes were closed. She doubted Sawyer had even noticed the change her voice had made; Sawyer was too focused on the music. 

Out of the corner of their mouth, Vasquez whispered, “You’re staring.”

“Shove off,” Alex hissed.

Vasquez snorted into their beer.

Sawyer opened her eyes just as her song started to taper off. She flicked a glance towards Alex, as if she had noticed her staring. Whether it had been an intentional move or not, Alex felt herself stop breathing. 

There was silence. Then, the bar erupted into cheers. Alex watched Sawyer grin and duck her head as people applauded.

“Damn, she’s good,” Vasquez said.

Alex let out a breath before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, she is.” Sawyer’s voice, the emotion that came through when she sang, it was beautiful much like the woman herself. 

She caught Sawyer’s gaze again. Alex felt her face flush because this time, she could tell Sawyer’s move had been intentional. She quickly fumbled for her beer off to the side and took a swig while averting her eyes. Unfortunately, it went down the wrong pipe. She coughed and spluttered as Vasquez immediately started pounding on her back.

“Dammit, Alex!”

Alex waved them away after a few thumps. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she wheezed. “I’m—” 

She cut herself off when a shadow loomed over her. She looked up and felt her breathing stop for a second time. Sawyer was standing in front of her, a grin on face.

Vasquez poked Alex in the shoulder, hard.

“I’m so gay,” Alex blurted out. 

Next to her, she could hear Vasquez’s palm smack against their face along with a soft, exasperated,  _ “Jesus fucking Christ.” _

Alex was mortified, but to her relief Sawyer just looked more bemused than offended by her response.

“Well, that’s a pretty good thing to know,” Sawyer said. She held her hand out. “I’m Maggie Sawyer.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw Vasquez lean forward, a move that she recognised as them getting ready to defend.

Maggie must have noticed the move as well, because she quickly pulled her hand back and promptly put both up in the air. “Only because I’m gay too,” she said. She didn’t blurt it the same way Alex had, but there was a similar undercurrent of nervous energy that they could all feel.

Alex relaxed ever so slightly. She held her hand out to Maggie. “I have to say that mutual knowledge is always a good thing,” she said.

Maggie shook her hand. “It definitely is.” She tilted her head. “So, what brought you here tonight, Ms. ‘I’m so gay?’”

Vasquez let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a laugh. Alex ignored them. 

“It’s Alex, Alex Danvers,” she said, “And I guess you could say I was looking for a change of scenery.”

“Yeah?” Maggie raised an eyebrow at her. “You find what you were looking for?”

Alex thought back to the emotion she had heard in Maggie’s voice while she sang and looked her over, doing her best to be subtle about it. She smiled. “Yeah,” she said, “I think I have.”

The smile Maggie gave her in return was incredible. It made Alex’s stomach flip. 

“That’s good, I—”

Maggie was cut off by M’gann shouting, “Sawyer, get your butt back up here and help me break down the stage!”

She gave Alex an apologetic look. “Looks like duty calls,” she said. “Guess I’ll see you around then, Danvers.”

Maggie winked at Alex before heading back to the stage.

“Alex,” Vasquez started, “Do you have any idea how gay that entire exchange was?”

Alex bit her lip and watched Maggie help M’gann out. “Yeah,” she said, “I definitely do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it looks like all of these chapters are coming in late. I'd like to apologise for that. I've started an EMT cert course and it's taking up most of my time now :/
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all liked what you read! Don't forget to leave a comment and feel free to come say hi on Tumblr @sandstonesunspear. Have a happy Pride Month :)


	5. Coming Out, feat. Genderfluid!Maggie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genderfluid!Maggie's coming out journey and all the struggles that entails for someone who's culture doesn't really have the language to describe who they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by both my experiences as a half-Mexican transmasc enby and a conversation with queercapwriting.
> 
> Translations for the Spanish bits are at the end.

Maggie is 13 when she tries on her abuelo’s guayabera. She and her abuela are the only ones home; her abuelo is out with the other guys in the Sierra Club. Still, she waits until her buela is in the kitchen before she snatches the shirt from their bedroom and hurries to the hallway bathroom to put it on.

It’s about four sizes too big and on her skinny frame, it falls more like one of those robes altar servers wear. But to Maggie, it’s perfect. She tucks her hair up into one of the many ball caps laying around the house, hunches her shoulders forward, and puts on a scowl that probably looks intimidating to no one but her.

“What’s up, vato?” she growls out, trying to get her voice to drop to the register she’s heard so many times in the trashy movies that she and Eliza watch on the weekends. 

She puffs up her chest, pretends that what rises at the motion is a set of pecs instead of breasts. She deepens her scowl. 

“¿Qué pasó, vato?” The growl is deeper in her native tongue. Maggie thinks it’s properly menacing this time, the way a real machista sounds.

Maggie shifts her stance into something that’s both more nonchalant yet confrontational. It’s the perfect machista stance that she’s seen her tíos pull off. 

“Name’s Mag—” She cuts herself off. That doesn’t feel right. Not right now, not like this. She looks herself over and runs names through her head.

Mark? No, too white. 

Max? Sounds too close to Mex.

Mateo? She has a tío named Mateo. He’s her favourite. 

Maggie nods. That’s the name that will do. She readjusts her stance, lifts her chin upwards and flashes a cocky smirk at the mirror. 

“Name’s Mateo,” she says to her reflection. Her voice is gruff, but not machista-gruff. She readies herself to try again, only to freeze at the sound of slippers scuffing along linoleum tiles.

“Margarita, con quién estás hablando?”

Maggie panics. The hat goes flying into the shower and random soap and lotion bottles get knocked into the sink as she scrambles to disengage from the persona that she’s created.

“Um, con nadie, abuelita, um—” The door to the bathroom swings open. Her grandmother stands before her, eyebrow raised. She winces when she sees her grandmother gaze move to the sink.

“Que paso aquí y por que llevas puesta la guayabera de tu abuelo?”

Maggie licks her lips. “Uh, um, p-para un experimento de ciencia,” she stammers out, “Y necesitaba una chaqueta así que la traje.”

She doesn’t know if her grandmother believes her or not; she prays that she does. She feels her heart pounding against her chest as her buela looks her up and down. 

“Ya veo,” her grandmother finally says, “Pues tu abuelo va a volver aquí en diez minutos, así que pon la guayabera en nuestra habitación.”

Maggie nods almost immediately. “Si, abuelita.” 

Her grandmother nods in approval before leaving almost as quickly as she had appeared. The second she’s out of sight, Maggie slumps over the sink. One hand braces against the faux-marble while the other shakes as it works to undo the buttons.

One by one, the buttons come undone but the weight on her chest fails to get any lighter. If anything, it gets heavier, almost like a sense of dread. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she chalks it up to the Nine Inch Nails shirt that’s now visible underneath and the fact that she knows her grandfather dislikes her taste in music, rather than the guayabera hanging on her shoulders. 

When Maggie walks into the living room, her grandfather is already home. Even though the guayabera is back in its place, she can’t stop her stomach from twisting when she sees him. She sits on the couch while her grandfather regales her grandmother with the latest developments from the Sierra Club. She picks up a random Reader’s Digest at the end of the couch and flips through it, feigning interest in the random articles.

Her grandmother never says a word about Maggie and the guayabera.

Maggie’s return to Blue Springs feels bittersweet to her. She’s back home with her parents, can actually see her best friend in person instead of just hearing her on the phone, and yet, she feels more stifled than ever. 

Some days are better than others. Some days, she wakes up and finds that looking in the mirror is easy. She doesn’t have to puff up her chest or alter the way she stands or drop her voice and scowl. She can just grin and go about her day. Other days are different. Those are the days where looking in the mirror is the hardest thing in the world. On those days, she locks the bathroom door and turns the shower on before she even dares to say, “What’s up, vato?”

In the shower, she practices standing like her tío Monche, the roughest and toughest of her tíos. He’s not her favourite tío (that honour goes to her tío Mateo), but he’s a real machista: strong, gruff, always ready for a fight. She squares her shoulders, tilts her chin up just enough to give the impression to her imagined opponent that she’s looking down at them while also being able to still see, and clenches her fists.

She thumps one fist against her chest. “Me llamo Mateo, y voy a luchar contigo, cabrón,” she says. She keeps her voice low, both to make it gruff and to make sure that it can’t be heard over the noise of the shower. She can’t have her parents hear her saying something like that. 

Maggie loses track of time in the shower. When she does finally get out, the water is ice cold against her skin, but she feels so much lighter.

By the time December rolls around, Maggie has a tentative system in place to identify how she feels. Some days, she wakes as Maggie. She grins when Eliza says her name. She pretends that the flush in her cheeks is from windburn instead of a blush. Other days are dubbed Mateo-days. Those are the days where his smiles come easier, sure, but they’re weaker whenever Eliza says his, Maggie’s, name. On those days, he slouches a little more in his seat, scowls a little more, positions himself between Eliza and the other guys to protect her. He would fight every boy in the school for her, no matter which day it is.

When Mateo gets home on those days, he’s exhausted. He flinches when his mami calls him Maggie. He tries to brush it off as a tick of the cold, but he’s not entirely sure she believes him. The look she gives him from across the dinner table makes him want to throw up his pozole.

Valentine’s day falls on a Maggie day. She wears her hair down, puts on her nicest shirt, and feels good. She feels confident. She takes it as a sign that today’s the day to give Eliza the letter, to ask her to the dance and maybe to be something more. She has no way of knowing how wrong she is.

Maggie comes home to a packed suitcase on the front porch. The look on her father’s face makes her take a step back in fear. She’s seen that look once before, not on his face but on her tío Monche’s face, right before he beat the ever living shit out some guy who had bad mouthed Monche’s wife. 

Her father tells her to get in the car. Maggie practically flies into it. Sitting next to him as they drive out of town, Maggie feels so small. 

Eventually, she musters up the courage to ask, “Papi, did I do something wrong?”

Stony silence is her answer.

She swallows. “Papi, hice algo mal?” Her voice is even quieter than before

“Me deshonraste.” His voice is low and gruff, the way she tries to get hers to go when she’s alone in the shower. The way Mateo tries to make his. In any other situation, she would be in awe. All it does now, though, is fill her stomach with dread.

He says nothing else the rest of the drive. He pulls up on the side of the road. In the distance, Maggie can see her tía Lupita’s house.

“Papi—”

“Salte. Ahora.”

Maggie opens her mouth to try and protest, but falls silent at the look he gives her. It’s the look of disgust someone gives a homeless person, one that conveys a complete and utter lack of recognition. Maggie feels like she’s taken a knife to the chest.

She swallows back a sob and gets out of the car. Her father barely gives her enough time to get her backpack and suitcase before closing the door and peeling away, leaving her on the side of the road. Alone. She stands there for half a beat before she crumples and vomits.

She cries as she retches. She pretends the tears are from the acid burning her throat rather than because of grief. She hears a woof in the distance. Two rounds of retching later, a wet nose meets her face. She looks up to see Manchas, tía’s elderly pitbull mutt, with a look of concern etched on her canine face. 

“I’m fine, Manchas,” she rasps out. 

The whine Manchas gives her tells Maggie that the dog doesn’t believe her.

Maggie sighs and wipes her mouth. She moves to stand, only to sway as soon as she’s upright. She almost falls back to the ground and into the puddle of vomit, but Manchas presses against her and keeps her standing.

“Thank you, Manchas,” she says.

The look of concern morphs into a wide canine grin that makes Maggie smile. Manchas has always been good at that, making people smile.

The two of them walk back in silence. Maggie’s smile slowly fades with each step she takes towards her tía’s house. She resists the urge to look back at the road. She knows her father isn’t coming back.

Sitting on the steps of the porch of her tía’s house, Maggie’s skinny jeans feel too tight. They highlight all the wrong things. All the confidence she had earlier in the day is gone. In its place is self-loathing and crushing self-doubt. She wonders if today would’ve gone better if it had been a Mateo day. Mateo’s smiles come easier. He can let things roll off his back. He doesn’t cry. Maggie cries. She tries not to, but she can’t stop herself. She hates herself for it.

She’s out on the front porch for three hours before her tía Lupita comes home. The look of surprise on her tía’s face informs Maggie that her father definitely didn’t call ahead.

The first thing her tía asks is, “What happened?”

Maggie tries to channel some of Mateo’s machismo and shrugs. “My dad kicked me out.”

The surprise changes to outrage. “Why?”

“I wrote a letter.” And she had been stupid enough to think it would remain a secret. Nothing like that ever remains a secret, especially not in highschool.

Her tía’s outrage turns dark. Maggie has a feeling her father is going to get a furious phone call in the near future, but she’s too tired and emotionally drained to care too much. A part of her hopes her tía raging against him will be enough to convince him to take her home. The rest of her knows that’s a pipe dream. The Sawyer family is made of stubborn people who rarely change course.

The bedroom that Maggie gets is a little smaller than the one she had at home. There’s a bed tucked into a corner, more bookshelves than actual clothing shelves, and a small armchair by the window.

“It’s more a guest bedroom than a personal bedroom,” her aunt says, “But we can fix that later. Tonight, you can sleep here.”

Maggie sits on the corner of the bed. “Okay.” The moment her tía closes the door to give her some time to gather herself, Maggie curls up into a ball on the bed. 

She’s never felt so small.

It’s a Mateo day when his tía finally calls his father. Mateo is up in his room curled up under the covers, but he can still hear his tía getting angrier and angrier at whatever his father is saying.

_ “She is your daughter, Oscar! You can’t just throw her away!” _

Mateo curls up even tighter at her words. He’s not a daughter or a she or a her. He’s just himself. What comes after that, he doesn’t know anymore. 

_ “No, fuck you, tú pinche pendejo! She dishonoured you? No, you dishonoured yourself, Oscar. And if you can’t see that, then I’m more than happy to keep her because unlike you, I still know what family means.” _

The noise the phone makes as his tía slams it against the kitchen counter echoes up to his room. It makes him flinch. He hears the steps creak moments later as his tía makes her way upstairs.

He hears the telltale squeak of the doorknob. He quickly rolls over to face the wall and pretends to be asleep by squeezing his eyes shut. Hopefully she’ll think he is and leave him alone. He just wants to be alone right now.

It doesn’t work.

His tía sits on the edge of his bed. “I know you’re awake.”

Mateo says nothing. He just opens his eyes and stares at the wall.

She sighs. “Your father told me what happened,” she says. “Is that all that happened, Maggie?”

He knows the name is coming because he hasn’t told her he goes by something else on some days, but he still can’t stop himself from flinching. Maggie’s the last name he wants to be called right now. 

His tía must notice because she places a hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him, but all it does is make him tense.

“Dime qué pasó.” 

“Nada,” he lies. He hates how easy it is to lie but he’s not that surprised. He’s no machista. He’s just a man, no, a boy, without honour who brought shame to his father. “No pasó nada.”

The second sigh his tía lets out is even heavier than before.

He glances at her over his shoulder. Even in the dark, he can tell how weary she is. 

“No hay nada mas, tía.” He has to swallow past the lump that rises in his throat. He feels guilty. She didn’t have to take him in. She could have easily put him back out on the street, especially after talking to his father, but she didn’t. Instead, she had come upstairs to ask for his side of the story, to comfort him, to let him know that he was still family in her eyes and here he was lying to her. “There’s nothing else. What my dad told you, that’s all that there was, just a stupid letter that told a girl I liked her.”

His tía sighs for a third time. The sound makes him feel even worse. She runs a hand through his too-long hair then pats his shoulder.

“Okay, if you say that there’s all there is, then I believe you.”

She gets up and makes her way to the open door before he can say anything. Before she closes it, she says, “Te quiero, Maggie.”

Mateo swallows inaudible and rasps out, “Te quiero, tía.” He lets himself pretend the raspiness in his voice is due to midnight thirst and not unshed tears. 

The door shuts with a soft click. Mateo wraps an arm around a pillow and pulls it close. He presses his face tightly against it to muffle the sound of his sobs. 

He hates that he cries.

It’s two months before her tía brings a friend home. Maggie vaguely recognises the man, though she can’t quite place where she knows him from.

“This is Ernesto,” her tía tells her. “He’s, he’s like you. Sort of. Well, he likes men, but he’s Mexican so I figured he’d be a good person for you to talk to.”

Maggie eyes Ernesto moving about the kitchen. Inwardly, she scoffs at the sight of him. He’s light on his feet. He doesn’t look like he could intimidate a housecat, let alone another person. He’s not a machista. He might not even be a real man. 

Almost as soon as the thought crosses her mind, Maggie’s biting her lip in regret. Even if she didn’t say the words out loud, she was raised well enough to know that it’s a rude line of thinking. Ernesto could be someone good to talk to, but not for her. And certainly not for Mateo.

Maggie nods. “He seems...cool.” Cool seems like a neutral enough word.

She can practically hear her tía’s eyebrow go up. “Is that a good cool or bad cool?”

Maggie shrugs. “Cool.” She tries to add a little cheek to her tone, but it falls flat.

“Uh huh.” Her tía pats her on the shoulder. “Go set the table. I’ll help Ernesto with the food.”

Dinner is awkward. 

Ernesto goes on and on about how gay Mexicans are an Actual Thing and how there’s no reason to be ashamed of who she is. Maggie gives him a half grin and stuffs her face full of rice and frijoles refritos to prevent herself from making a cutting remark. She’s not ashamed of who she is in the way that he thinks she is. On the contrary, she’s proud to be a gay Mexican woman. It’s the other half of her identity that makes her uncertain.

“I know that it’s hard, what you’re going through,” Ernesto says.

Maggie’s hand tightens around her fork. Her thoughts turn mutinous. He  _ knows?  _ No, he only thinks he knows, but he doesn’t. He knows nothing, understands nothing. He’s just a gay Mexican male. She doubts he even knows what it’s like to be a machista.

She does her best to keep those thoughts from playing across her face. “It sucks,” she says instead.

He gives her a blinding smile. “It’ll get better,” he tells her.

The quick smile Maggie gives him in return is the one her mami taught her, one that disguises irritation and bitterness. She’s a gay teenage Mexican girl who lost her best friend, her home, and her family all in a single day simply because she wrote a letter and had been stupid enough to think that its contents would stay a secret. She doesn’t need empty platitudes that sound like they were ripped straight out of a gay gringo handbook. 

“Can only go up from here, right?” she says.

Ernesto reaches across the table for a high five. “That’s the spirit!”

Maggie looks at his hand, then at her food, and decides to take a bite of rice instead of returning it. There’s only so much pandering she can do in a night.

“So, what did you think of Ernesto?” Her tía asks once dinner has finished and Ernesto has left.

_ Él no sabe nada,  _ Maggie wants to say. 

“He’s cool,” is what she says instead.

“Just cool?” Maggie doesn’t have to look at her tía to see the raised eyebrow being aimed her way.

She shrugs. “It’s cool that his parents came around and that he’s happy with who he is,” she says. She tries to keep her tone noncommittal.

“Are you happy with who you are?”

Maggie’s suddenly very grateful for the soapy water in the sink because it hides how her grip tightens around the plate in her hands. She really hates how easily her tía can read her sometimes. 

“I’m fine,” she says. She has to work to keep her voice even. 

“Margarita—”

Maggie plunks the dish into the drying rack a little harder than necessary. “I’m  _ fine!”  _ she says again. “My story isn’t like his, my parents aren’t ever going to come around, tía, but I’m fine with that.”

She has to be fine with that, otherwise the grief will overwhelm her. She can’t let that happen. She’s already lost her family and her best friend. She won’t lose herself.

Maggie plunges her hands back into the water to hide how they shake. She grabs another plate to try and steady them.

“All right,” her tía eventually says.

Maggie keeps on washing dishes.

The day Maggie’s quinces rolls around is also a Mateo day. He wakes up feeling miserable. He eventually stumbles his way downstairs to find his tía is already at work and Manchas is snoring away on the couch. He spends the day flipping through channels while Manchas’ drools on his lap. He stumbles upon a marathon of  _ My Super Sweet 16 _ . It’s a show that he’s watched before, with Eliza back in better times, but he’s never liked it. He figures it’s the perfect thing to watch in order to keep him from thinking about what his quinces could have been like, had he just kept his mouth shut.

It doesn’t work.

He’s three episodes in before he’s crying into Manchas’ fur. The elderly pitbull mutt whines and licks his face in concern, but it only makes him cry that much harder. He had never dreamed of having an elaborate quinces nor had he ever wanted one. He had known from an early age that his parents wouldn’t have been able to afford it. That didn’t mean he hadn’t dreamed of having one though. He had always pictured Eliza by his side, grinning right alongside him as she and he danced the night away with his family. And then everything fell apart.

By the time his tía gets home, Mateo’s whole body hurts from having spent the whole day crying. He does his best to try and look as though all he had done was sit on the couch and watch TV, but he knows he must look like a mess. To his relief, she doesn’t call out his red-rimmed eyes or the small mountain of tissues in the rubbish bin by the couch. She just sighs and takes the bin while telling him to set the table.

Dinner is usually a silent affair for the two of them, but tonight is the most awkward it’s ever been. Mateo keeps his head down as he shovels cooling Mexican take out down his throat. He’s almost done with his first half dozen tamales when his tía produces a small gift bag and puts it on the table. 

Mateo blinks at the sight of it. “What is it?”

“A present, for your quinces, Mag—” He can’t stop his flinch. It must be an obvious one, because she stops herself and quickly says, “Sawyer.”

Sawyer, not Mateo. He hasn’t told her the complete truth yet, but her default to Sawyer is touching.

Still, Mateo eyes the bag like it’s booby-trapped. He puts his half-eaten tamal down, wipes his fingers on the napkin (because even if she’s not his mother, she’d still cuff him upside the head if he dared to use his jeans), and cautiously reaches into the bag. His hand meets fabric, the kind that gets soft with countless washes. It makes his brow furrow as he pulls the item out.

It’s a guayabera, one that actually looks like it’ll fit him.

He stares at it, then up at his tía.

“You remember Héctor, the guy who owns the alteration shop on 8th and H?” He nods cautiously. “His son, Alonzo, just had a major growth spurt and doesn’t fit in a lot of his old clothes, so Héctor was looking to pass them along. I told him I’d take it.”

His tía almost looks embarrassed to admit that the item is second hand. 

“I know it’s not the best quinces gift ever given, and I know that this probably isn’t how you wanted your quinces to go but—”

“It’s perfect.” It comes out as a whisper. The guayabera is light in his hands and soft to the touch. It’s an off shade of green, sage, he guesses. He loves it. 

Mateo can feel the tears rising in his eyes. He presses the shirt to his face and starts to cry. He tries not to because men don’t cry, but he can’t help himself. It’s not the quinces present he dreamed of, but it’s the quinces present he needs. 

Maggie is Maggie the day she graduates high school. Having graduated at the top of her class, she sits in the front row next to the vice principal. She keeps her eyes on the stage as her classmates go up one by one, but she can still feel the looks he shoots her way. She can’t stop the smirk that rises to her lips. Months ago, on a Mateo day, the vice principal had called him a good for nothing wetback. Now, here she was with a perfect GPA and a full-ride to the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

“Sawyer, Maggie!” 

The applause she receives as she walks up to get her diploma is much more muted than that of her classmates. Maggie doesn’t let it bother her. She channels the machismo she has on Mateo days and keeps her head held high as she strides across the stage. 

The principal gives her a look of barely concealed disapproval as she hands over Maggie’s diploma. Maggie takes it and gives her a cocky smirk in return.

A shrill whistle pierces the air. Maggie glances over her shoulder at the sound. 

_ “That’s my sobrino!”  _ her tía shouts.

Sobrino. Nephew. It’s not a Mateo day, but it’s still nice to hear. She doubts anyone other than Ernesto and herself know what her tía really said, anyway.

Maggie's smirk turns into a warm smile. 

Ernesto, flamboyant as ever, stands on her tía’s left. Mr. Johnson, the town’s elderly boxing coach who had seen an angry teenager and given her a space to properly channel that anger no matter who she was on a particular day, stands to her tía’s right. Her parents aren’t in attendance, which is more than fine with her. She never did expect them to show up. Besides, the people that matter are here. 

She catches Eliza’s gaze on her way back to her seat. For a second, she’s 14 all over again. It’s just Maggie and Eliza in that gym. There’s something in Eliza’s eyes, guilt, remorse, a hesitation? Maggie can’t quite tell. But it’s enough to have her stomach flipping the same way it had the day she put that letter in Eliza’s locker.

Another shrill whistle from her tía breaks the moment. 

Maggie blinks. Eliza’s no longer looking at her. She almost wants to believe that she imagined the whole thing, but then she sees the way that Eliza bites her lip. It’s one of Eliza’s tells, the one that would always let Maggie know that she had seen the same thing that Eliza had. 

She sits down and watches another student get called up. The applause is louder but she tunes it out. She glances back to where her tía, Ernesto, and Mr. Johnson are. They all look so proud, prouder than her father ever did. It makes her smile. Sitting up front in her guayabera under her graduation robe and the looks of pride, of acceptance, on their faces is all she needs.

Going to college at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln is interesting, to say the least. There are so many gringuitos on campus that Maggie feels like she’s the only Mexican on campus. As a double major in chemistry and criminal justice, she’s definitely the only Mexican woman in any of her courses.

The gringos in her courses scoff at her all the way up until the first exam, where they find themselves crushed into silence when Maggie’s scores top the class. After that, some of the scoffs turn into posturing. Maggie channels Mateo and gives as good as she gets. Her tongue lashings are vicious, the kind that her mami and her tía would be proud of, but they’re nothing compared to what she can delivery on Mateo days. When he’s Mateo, he goes hard like the machista he tries so hard to be. He smirks and grins easily while firing back insults where Maggie would be acting disinterested. He knows he’s playing a dangerous game. The gringos in Blue Springs never took too kindly to people like him and his papi speaking back to them; he doubts it’s different in Lincoln.

It comes to bite Maggie at the end of her sophomore year. 

He’s Mateo the night it happens. He sits at the bar nursing a glass of scotch, his reward for making it through his ochem final. He’s about halfway through his glass when he sees a group of guys harassing another girl. 

He takes a sip when he hears her say no once, then drains it completely when he hears her say it a second time. The undercurrent of distress in her voice has him up on his feet and in between her and the guys within seconds.

“Back off, ese,” he growls. He doesn’t even try to lower his voice; the scotch takes care of that for him. 

“C’mon, man, we’re just having some fun here,” one of the guys says. He has a wide smile on his face that puts Mateo on edge. He’s seen that smile before on the faces of other men in movies. He knows exactly what it means.

Mateo positions himself to cover the girl even more. “She told y’all no,” he says, “So back off.”

Another of the group takes a step forward. It takes Mateo a second to recognise him as Josh Davis from ochem, and when he does, his hand is raised to stop him. 

“She said  _ no _ ,” Mateo says again. This time, the growl his voice takes from his own effort. 

There’s a scoff from the guy behind Josh. Mateo glares back, daring them to make the first move. Waiting to throw the first punch isn’t the machista thing to do, but he has to. Even in his flannel and workboots, he probably doesn’t look like much to them. He’s still small and brown, after all. He needs them to make the first move.

He doesn’t have to wait long. He sees the punch coming from a mile away. He forces himself to stay loose and lets it connect. 

The girl behind him screams as he stumbles back. Mateo can taste the blood in his mouth. He’ll admit that while it’s not the hardest punch he’s ever taken to the face, it’s still a good punch nonetheless. He takes two breaths, counting right alongside them, then launches a punch of his own.

It connects against Josh’s chin with an audible crack. The taller man crumples to the ground half a beat later, unconscious.

Josh’s friends stare down at their fallen friend, then up at Mateo. He grins at them in response. He knows he must look slightly unhinged, smiling the way he does with blood dripping from his lips.

Mateo spits off to the side. “So, any of you pendejos wanna follow your compadre?” he asks. “Or are you going to listen to the lady?”

He gets his answer in the form of another punch that he sees coming. This time, he doesn’t let it connect. He blocks and brings the guy down to his level in order to do what Mr. Johnson taught him to do: drive his fist into the other guy’s liver. Mateo hears the telltale sound of a gag and shoves him aside just in time for the other guy to vomit all over his friend.

The bar quiets. It’s just Mateo and the rest of Josh’s friends. They might dwarf him, but he’s got the experience in the ring that none of them have. 

Mateo quickly pulls the girl from her seat and moves her out of the way. He gets her into a booth just as one of the larger guys attempts to start a dogpile on top of him. Mateo simply steps out of the way and lets the man collide with the table.

Jab, jab, duck. Punch with the hips. 

Mateo moves circles around the other guys. It’s obvious that none of them have ever fought someone his size before. He, on the other hand, has fought guys like them. They’re used to punching down with words, he’s used to punching up with his fists. 

The fight ends with him dragging the lankiest of them down and introducing that guy’s face to his knee. He counts to three before letting the guy slide off his knee. 

Mateo’s chest heaves. Blood pounds his ears. He feels lighter than he did at the start of the night, though he can’t tell if that’s from the alcohol in his system, the post-fight high, or some combination of the two. 

He makes his way to the booth where he stashed the girl. He ignores the groans of pain around him and ducks his head inside. 

“You okay?” he asks.

The girl flinches away from him. It makes his stomach twist. He recognises that look on her face; he’s had that same look on his face during some of his Maggie days. He leans back to try and give her some space. 

“They won’t hurt you anymore,” he says. 

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. The look of fear and apprehension on her face speaks volumes.

Mateo runs a hand through his hair, which had come undone at some point during the fight. “I, uh,” he licks his lips, “I’m just going to grab another drink.”

It’s six quick steps to the bar from the booth. The bartender already has another glass of scotch waiting for him when he sits down. He reaches into his jeans for his wallet, but the bartender waves him away.

“On the house, one time only,” she says. She tosses a bag of ice onto the bar. “That too.”

She leaves him alone to drink his scotch. 

Mateo picks up the bag of ice and takes a sip of his drink. He flinches at the way the alcohol burns his split lip, but forces himself to finish the mouthful. He puts the ice to his face and glances back over at the booth. The girl still won’t look at him. His stomach clenches. 

Suddenly, feeling like a machista doesn’t make him feel strong. It makes him feel sick.

Mateo gets let off with a warning. It takes him by surprise, especially considering all the men he beat into the floor were white.

On his way out of the station, an African-American cop takes him aside. 

“She vouched for you, you know,” the cop, King according to his nametape, says.

Mateo blinks. “She did?” He just figured the police let him off with a warning just because of his size.

Officer King nods. “Yeah, she did, but you can’t be relying on that.” He thumps Mateo in the chest hard enough to make him wince. “You can’t be doing stuff like this, woman or not.”

Mateo’s fists clench at the word  _ woman.  _ He’s not a woman, not right now. He’s just himself.

“Much as I love my brothers in there,” he motions to the station, “I know them. I know that some of them don’t see a person when they see people like you and me. They see colour. And that’s all it takes, for one cop to see your skin instead of your humanity before you end up six feet under.”

Mateo tenses. “You threatening me?” he demands before he can stop himself.

Officer King jabs him in the forehead. “I’m trying to teach you a lesson, trying to get you to  _ think _ .” He takes a step closer to Mateo. “You’re not black, but you are a woman of colour. You don’t have the luxury of being naive. Naivety is how you get hurt, or worse,  _ killed.” _

Mateo looks away and huffs. He knows that Officer King is right. Mr. Johnson had given him a similar talk ages ago, shortly after he had joined the boxing gym back in Blue Springs. 

Officer King claps him on the shoulder. “Be careful. There are good cops out there, just, too many bad as well.”

Mateo shoves his hands into his pocks. “Yeah.” He knows that too. He wants to change it.  

He can’t get Officer King’s words nor that girl’s fearful expression out of his head the rest of the night. She can’t get them out of her head when it’s a Maggie day, either. 

Josh and his compadres avoid Maggie. There’s one day where one of them tries to give her a hard time over something stupid. All she has to do is raise an eyebrow at him before he’s running off with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. 

UNL adds LGBTQ/Sexuality Studies to its academic program at the start of her junior year. Maggie is one of the first people to take it as a minor. She does it quietly, not because she’s afraid (Lincoln, and UNL in general, is a thousand times better than Blue Springs), but because she doesn’t want to deal with the attention the move could bring her.

She’s the only STEM major in any of her minor courses. She’s also the only Mexican. There are plenty of gringas in those lectures. Some of them are gay like her, others are straight. She exchanges nods with the other queer women, but keeps her guard up around the straight ones; the memory of Eliza Wilke still burns.

Coming from a town like Blue Springs, Maggie knows she’s behind the curve. While other women in her class are nodding along to information they already know, Maggie’s pen scratches furiously against the pages of her notebook. She learns more in those lectures than she ever could from wikipedia stubs (some nights she stays up late and adds to those stubs). She gains new terminology that makes her think. 

Being in those classes on a Mateo day is an interesting experience. No one but him knows he’s himself on those days, but he still feels a bit off kilter when he walks in. He finds himself sitting up a little taller, listening a little closer, whenever the topic of gender comes up. He tests out words like  _ butch  _ and  _ kiki _ in his mind to see how well they might fit him, to see if they can finally describe who he is. 

They don’t. 

_ Kiki _ leaves his mouth feeling weird. The nonconformity of it draws him to the term because of how fluid his own identity is, but it ultimately falls flat in his mind, especially after the professor tells them all about the derogatory connotations behind it. 

_ Butch _ kind of fits, but it’s awkward. It works more for when he’s Maggie and even then, just barely. Maggie’s kind of butch, but she’s not butch 24/7. 

By the time Maggie graduates UNL with her two majors and single minor, she has the language to say that she’s a proud, gay, Mexican woman and knows what that entails. What she doesn’t have, though, is a way to describe the rest of her, a way to explain why she’s Maggie some days and Mateo on others.

She gets that language in Gotham. Kate Kane is the woman who helps her get it.

Maggie meets Kate her second week in Gotham, right after Killer Croc and Batwoman smash their way through her apartment. It’s not even noon, but Maggie’s just finished her third shot of tequila in a row when a glass of scotch plonks itself in front of her. She looks up, and promptly chokes.

It’s Batwoman. Or at least, Batwoman in civilian clothes. Maggie would know that bright red hair anywhere; the morning sunshine had burned it into her memories hours earlier.

Batwoman introduces herself, “Kate Kane. You looked like you could use another drink.”

Maggie takes it and raises it gratefully. “Maggie Sawyer,” she says. “And you’re not wrong, I’m still recovering from having had a giant crocodile-human hybrid smash his way through my front door this morning. He didn’t even have the courtesy to wipe his claws on the doormat before he came flying inside.”

Kate laughs, “Yeah, Killer Croc isn’t that big on manners, or so I’ve heard.”

“I dunno,” Maggie drawls, “If Batwoman hadn’t kicked him through the other wall, I’d like to think he would’ve apologised.” 

A chagrined expression flashes across Kate’s face momentarily. Maggie has to hide her smile behind her scotch glass. 

“Well, I think Batwoman would at least apologise,” Kate says.

“Yeah?” Maggie raises an eyebrow.

Kate leans against the bartop. “Yeah.” The smile she gives Maggie is breathtaking. 

Maggie finds herself smitten. 

They run into each other several more times. Sometimes, they meet as Rookie Officer Sawyer and Batwoman. Other times they meet as Maggie and Kate. When they meet as the former, Maggie plays dumb and pretends to not notice that the woman with striking red hair is the same woman she had dinner with the night before. She doesn’t know if Kate knows that she knows. If Kate does, she never lets on. 

It’s after their third run-in as Maggie and Kate that Kate finally ask her out on an actual date.

“What do you call the dinners we’ve been having?” Maggie asks.

“Just two gals having dinner and being pals.” Kate’s response makes her laugh. She found out early on that Kate could be extremely cheesy. “So, what do you say, Mags, movie date?”

“I’d love to.”

Their move date goes about as well as one would expect a romantic date in Gotham City to go. They’re about 20 minutes into the movie (an action flick whose trailers they both found horrifically cheesy) when The Riddler makes an appearance. 

Maggie’s moving almost as soon as the screams start up. She feels Kate try to make a grab for her hand but shrugs her off. She might not be armed with a gun, but she’s still that scrapy Mexican from Blue Springs. She knows how to fight. 

And fight she does.

She’s smaller than all of The Riddler’s henchmen, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She manages to take down three of them before she hears Kate join the fray. Together, they make a ferocious team.

The Riddler lets out a little whimper when the last of his henchmen falls to the ground, courtesy of a vicious kidney punch delivered by Maggie. From the expression on his face, it’s obvious to Maggie that he didn’t anticipate this course of events. That’s what he gets, she supposes, for trying to crash a movie date between a cop and Batwoman. 

The Riddler makes a break for it, or he tries to, at least. He doesn’t get very far before Maggie clotheslines him and slams him into the ground. She’s ties him up using several hastily provided belts from other theatre go-ers, then reads him his rights. Reading notorious criminals their rights is something her coworkers tease her about whenever she’s out on patrol, but Maggie cannot  _ not  _ do it. She knows how fucked up the justice system can be. People like The Riddler may be criminals, but they still have the right to be made aware of their rights. 

“You fight good,” Kate says, after Maggie has handed The Riddler over to on-duty cops.

Maggie ducks her head to try and hide the blush she can feel rising to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she says. “So do you.”

The kiss that Kate gives her is fierce. It takes Maggie by surprise. The moment the feel of Kate’s lips against hers registers with her brain, she freezes like a deer in the headlights.

Kate pulls back almost immediately, apologetic. “I’m so sorry, I should have—”

Maggie kisses her back.

They fall into an easy rhythm after that. 

Maggie and Kate date for six months before Maggie finally tells Kate about her Mateo days. She does it when she’s Maggie. She figures it’ll be easier, even though nothing about it is easy.

She tries to keep her nerves to herself as she helps Kate with dinner, but she’s not all that successful because the next thing she knows, Kate is asking, “Is something wrong, Mags?” 

Yes. No. Maybe. Maggie clenches the plate tight in her hands. She can feel Kate’s gaze burning against her skin.

“Maggie, babe?” Kate’s touch is gentle against her cheek, but Maggie can’t stop the flinch the touch draws. 

Today, she’s Maggie. She’s comfortable with the name, comfortable with herself. But hearing it from Kate’s lips while the knowledge of what she’s about to reveal to her girlfriend sits in the forefront of her brain, it makes her stomach twist. She knows that what she’s feeling is likely a mix of her own nervous energy and the 20-hour shift she just came off of; it’s probably a sign that doing this right after said shift is a bad idea. A part of her wonders if she should wait until she’s at least gotten a little more sleep. The rest of Maggie is adamant that she do it now. She’s tired of hiding, tired of the way her stomach twists on her Mateo days when Kate calls him Maggie. 

“Maggie.”

“Y-yeah,” Maggie manages to stammer out. “I-I mean, no, nothing’s wrong.”

Kate turns off the stove and takes the plate from her. “For a cop, you’re a terrible liar,” she says. 

Maggie knows Kate’s teasing her, but she still sputters with indignation nonetheless. She knows that she’s a good liar. She’s been lying for years to the people who care about her, not with anything she’s said but rather with everything she  _ hasn’t _ .

“You know I’m teasing,” Kate says. She leans against the counter, a look of concern on her face. “You going to tell me what’s bothering you, or am I going to have to start guessing?”

Maggie lets out a breath. “No, no you don’t have to guess. I, um, how about we move to the couch first?” She doesn’t think she’ll be able to stay standing for the whole conversation.

Kate nods. “Okay.” A beat. “You know, whatever it is you’re about to tell me, I love you regardless.”

_ Wait until after I tell you _ , the cynical side of Maggie snarks. She does her best to ignore it as she and Kate make their way to the couch. 

Maggie sits down. She looks up to the ceiling and counts to three. She pretends that she’s doing it to center herself when in reality she’s just doing it to buy herself some time. 

One-one thousand.

Two-one thousand.

Three-one thousand. 

Time’s up.

Maggie finally looks at Kate. Her girlfriend has a patient, yet slightly expectant expression. It’s such a Kate-expression that in any other situation, Maggie would laugh. 

She doesn’t though. What she does instead is clear her throat. “Uh, so, what I wanted to tell you is that I, I, um—”

The words shouldn’t be this hard to get out. Maggie knows exactly what she wants to say. It’s just a short sentence. All she has to do is just get the words out and it’ll be over. Yet, the words remain stuck in her throat. She does her best to push through it, despite the lump steadily growing in her throat.

She takes another breath to try and clear some of her rising panic. She doesn’t have a reason to panic, not yet.

“Some days,” she finally gets out, “Some days I’m not a woman.”

The puzzled look that Kate gives her makes Maggie’s heart leap into her throat. 

“What do you mean?”

The question makes Maggie’s heart feel like it’s about to come out from her throat.

She licks her lips. “I mean, there are some days where I’m a guy. Or I feel like one, anyhow.” 

Kate says nothing. Maggie can see the wheels turning in her girlfriend’s head. It pushes her to keep talking, to try and explain and justify who and what she is. 

“I don’t mean it as in like ‘I’m super butch,’ but as in ‘I’m a guy’ like an actual guy. Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely days when I’m happy as myself, as Maggie! But there are also days when I’m just…not.” Maggie can’t keep the frustrated note from her voice. She doesn’t know how else to describe why on some days she’s Maggie and other days she’s not.

The spark of understanding that finally appears in Kate’s eyes loosens the knot in Maggie’s chest. At least one of them knows what she’s trying to get at.

“Maggie, are you trying to tell me that you’re genderfluid?” Kate asks, voice gentle. 

Maggie blinks at the word. “Um, what?” 

“Genderfluid,” Kate says again. 

Maggie keeps on staring because that’s a word she’s never heard before. “What does it mean?” she asks.

Kate shrugs. “It means, well, exactly what it sounds like, that your gender is fluid and fluctuates from time to time.”

Fluctuates from time to time. That describes what’s been happening for years to a T.

Maggie tests the word in her mind. Genderfluid. It fits just like the guayabera that her tía got her for her quinces. 

She sits back, stunned. There’s actually a word that describes her perfectly. An identity that explains why she’s happy as Maggie on some days and happy as Mateo on others.

“I think,” she starts off slowly, “I think that is what I’m trying to say.”

Kate places a comforting hand on Maggie’s knee. 

“The days where I’m a guy, I’m also pretty happy, it’s just…” Maggie trails off. “Those are the days when everything feels off.”

Kate gives Maggie’s knee an encouraging squeeze. “How does it feel off?”

Maggie shrugs. “So, white masculinity is different than Mexican masculinity. That meant that when I was younger and starting to try and figure all of this out, the only reference point I had for what masculinity is, was this concept called machismo.”

“Machismo?”

Sometimes, Maggie forgets that while her girlfriend spent four years in upstate New York for West Point, she’s a Gotham-native at heart. 

“Machismo is…” How does she even begin to explain to someone who hasn’t grown up with it? “It’s this concept within Mexican culture, and I guess within other Spanish-speaking cultures, that dictates what a man is supposed to be like and act like. There’s this huge, I don’t know, mythos? Built up around the idea that a real machista is the one who’s strong and gruff and aggressive and that, that doesn’t really—” 

“Mesh with who you are,” Kate finishes for her.

Maggie blinks. “Yeah.” Go figure that her girlfriend would figure out what she was trying to say before she actually said it. Maggie supposes that’s what she gets when her girlfriend works with the world’s greatest detective.

Maggie lets her head loll back against the back of the couch. “I think that’s why everything feels so off. On the days when I’m a guy, I try my best to be a machista—”

“Why?” Kate asks.

Maggie glances at her girlfriend, eyebrow raised. “Why what?” 

“If what it takes to be a machista doesn’t jive with who you are as a person, then try to be a machista? What’s wrong with just being a guy?”

“Because…” Because it’s never that simple. There is no  _ just  _ being a guy. Mateo has to be the perfect machista because there’s really no other choice.  _ Maggie _ doesn’t have another choice. “Because being a machista is what it means to be a guy, Kate, a real guy. On those days, I can’t not be a guy. I can’t.”

“Okay.” There’s no judgement in Kate’s eyes nor her voice. “I know this might sound crazy, but have you ever thought about maybe redefining what machismo means? You know, maybe rewrite the narrative?”

Maggie’s brow furrows. “I can’t,” she says. “It’s so tied to Mexican culture—”

“Which you are a part of,” Kate says. She moves closer to Maggie. “It’s your culture, Mags, you have the right to change any part of it. That’s how culture evolves, because one person decided something needed to change.”

Maggie tips her head back to look at the ceiling once more. Kate’s words make her think. Maggie knows that her identities as a queer woman and a Mexican woman aren’t mutually exclusive; she’s long since learned to reconcile those. What she hasn’t really been able to reconcile is culture and change. In Maggie’s eyes, her culture had frozen the night her father left her on the side of the road on Valentine’s Day.

“Yeah, I guess you make a good point,” she eventually says.

“I have them from time to time.” Kate leans her head on Maggie’s shoulder. “So, do you have a name? You know, for the days when you’re a guy?”

Maggie bites her lip. “...Mateo,” she says. It feels so liberating to say the name out loud to someone else.

Kate nods. “The Spanish version of Matthew, nice,” she says.

Maggie raises an eyebrow and looks down at her girlfriend. “You just know that off the top of your head?” 

Kate grins. “Of course, how else would I be able to beat Bruce at Trivial Pursuit?” she asks.

Magie shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you’re on a first name basis with the CEO of Wayne Industries,” she says. 

Sometimes she forgets that her girlfriend runs the second largest company in Gotham. It’s an easy thing to do when Kate goes to great lengths to avoid the paparazzi and has a day job in the public sector.

“I’ve also known him since we were both in diapers,” Kate points out. 

Maggie chuckles. “Yeah, that’s true.” Kate has the pictures to prove it. She’s broken them out before, when they once had Bruce Wayne over for dinner. It’s the only time Maggie has ever seen the normally stoic CEO flustered.

She kisses Kate’s head. “Thank you,” she says.

Kate looks up at her, confused. “For what?”

“For taking all of this so well,” Maggie says. 

She closes her eyes when she feels Kate’s lips on her jaw.

“You don’t have to thank me for something like that, Mags,” Kate whispers against her jaw.

Maggie smiles, eyes still closed, and thanks her anyway.

Changing the way he looks at machismo is a hard, slow process. Mateo knows that he can be a man’s man. He just has to define what that means for  _ him _ . He already knows what he likes (the sense of hermandad and the importance of honour) and what he doesn’t (the focus on aggression and the all-or-nothing attitude towards masculinity), but coming up with a way to tackle what he doesn’t like is easier said than done. He has to constantly remind himself that even though he was kicked out of his home, he wasn’t kicked out of his culture. His still has a say. His actions still matter. All change needs is a single person, as Kate often reminds him.

It takes time, but he gets there. He stays ready to throw down for a fight, something that he pretty much has to do because of how Gotham is, but instead of immediately jumping up and posturing whenever he thinks someone looks at Kate wrong, he sits back and lets her handle herself. She’s his girlfriend, but she’s her own person and she can defend herself. He laughs and gushes about Kate whenever his coworkers start moaning about their own girlfriends instead of grumbling right alongside them. Perhaps the most important change he makes is that doesn’t let himself hate himself when he has to cry after a hard case. 

There’s no shame in tears.

Their relationship doesn’t change much after Maggie’s confession. Kate still stops by the precinct at least four times a week to bring Maggie lunch. Maggie still picks up two tubs of ice cream (one vegan, one not, both kosher) for their weekly friday movie dates at home. 

The one thing that does change is how they communicate. Maggie finds her mornings opening with a text from Kate asking how she is. The first few times she gets the text, she frowns in confusion. The day’s barely started; there’s no reason to ask a question like that so early in the morning. Then, she realises that this is Kate’s way of checking who Maggie is that day. Some days, she responds with a simple  _ fine _ or  _ ok  _ to let Kate know that she’s Maggie. Other days, the response is,  _ mighty _ . 

The first time he sends back  _ mighty _ , Mateo’s hands shake. He plays it off as result of too much coffee that morning, something that his coworkers easily believe because he’s still the rookie of the precinct and thus subject to the worst shifts. He tries to focus on his paperwork as he waits for a response.

He doesn’t have to wait long. 

He’s about three lines in to another report when his phone buzzes. A quick flip of his phone reveals a thumbs up and a heart. The sight makes his own heart soar.

“Kane sexting you while you’re on the clock, Sawyer?” his partner, Jay Covington, asks. 

Mateo flips him off. “No, she’s just texted me to let me know that she found a new brand of vegan ice cream for us to try,” he lies.

Covington makes a face. “I can’t believe you eat that stuff willingly,” he says.

Mateo shrugs. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he says.

“I’m gonna stick with my delicious, dairy-filled triple chunk rocky road, thank you very much,” Covington snarks back, but there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Stop talking about ice cream!” Jaina shouts from across the bullpen. “You’re making me hungry!”

Both Mateo and Covington exchange looks before they bust out laughing. Jaina throws a balled up DD-5 at Mateo’s head. It makes him laugh harder.

Kate brings him lunch. It’s a vegan stir fry from that place on 8th that he absolutely  _ loves _ . The second he smells, his mouth is watering.

“How come you never bring me anything?” Covington demands as soon as Kate sets the bag of take-out on Mateo’s desk.

Even though he knows that Covington is joking, Mateo still gives him a warning look.

“Because you’re not as handsome as my partner here,” Kate says.

Mateo stops, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

Handsome. Kate just called him handsome. 

He can’t stop the smile that crosses his face even as he feels the tips of his ears starting to burn.

Kate must notice, because she presses a kiss to the side of his head. 

Covington makes a fake gagging noise. 

Mateo does his best to flip him off, but it’s hard when one hand is clutching a take-out container and the other is holding a pair of chopsticks. 

There’s a snort from Jaina on the other end of the bullpen right before Covington starts laughing and flips him off.

Mateo can feel Kate smiling against the side of his head. It makes his smile even wider, though he hides it behind his take-out. Despite his happiness, he can’t stop thinking about how he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

The other shoe drops in November in the form of Kate’s long-lost twin, Beth.

The first murder happens half-way through September. No one at Gotham PD blinks, not even Maggie; murders are so commonplace in Gotham that when the rate  _ drops _ , everyone gets nervous. Gotham PD does its usual job, but no one thinks much else of the case.

Then another body drops, followed by one more. Alarm bells start to go off when none of Gotham’s usual players step forward to take responsibility for the growing number of bodies that end up in the morgue of Maggie’s precinct. By the third week of November, seven people are dead.

Maggie’s the one that finds a connection between all the murders: torn pages from Lewis Caroll’s  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ , folded up and stuffed amongst the victims’ clothing. For her efforts, Gotham PD appoints her as lead detective for the case. Newer officers and detectives congratulate her over it, but the veterans in the department give her looks of pity. It’s not an honour to be the lead detective on a case like this; it’s the higher ups way of trying to save face for not making the connection themselves.

Still, Maggie throws herself into the case that the media calls,  _ The Red Alice Massacre _ . She knows she has to catch the culprit or her career is as good as dead. The higher ups at Gotham’s Police Plaza will make sure of it if destroying her career means they can absolve themselves of any blame.

It’s another two weeks and two more bodies before Red Alice herself makes an appearance. Unfortunately, that appearance happens in Maggie’s home.

Maggie knows something is off the second she walks through the front door. At first, she doesn’t know what it is. Then, a single sheet of paper on the coffee table catches her eye. She walks over to pick it up and when she does, her heart starts to pound against her chest. 

It’s a page from  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ , just like what had been found on the other victims. 

There’s a noise behind her.

Maggie turns around. She sees a flash of blond hair, then everything goes black.

When she comes to, her head is pounding. She can taste blood on her mouth. She tries to move her hands, but finds them bound behind her back.

“The fuck hit me?” she whispers to the air.

A high-pitched giggle is the answer. “Oh, goody, you’re awake!”

Maggie looks up blearily to see a blonde woman dressed in an outfit that looks like it came straight from the Victorian Era. 

“...Harley Quinn?” she guesses.

The blonde giggles again. This time, there’s a darker note to it that makes Maggie flinch. She knows what Harley Quinn’s laugh sounds like and that most definitely is  _ not  _ it.

“No, silly, I’m Red Alice.” The smile that accompanies that statement is positively deadly.

Red Alice. 

Maggie swallows. “I see,” she says. 

She does her best to appear unaffected by the revelation, but inwardly, she’s panicking. She knows how to buy time with Gotham’s regular key players: Harley Quinn likes to talk about psychology and sexuality, The Riddler will happily engage with riddle after riddle, Two-Face loves to make bets. The only thing she knows about Red Alice thus far is that the woman is responsible for ten murders and kidnapped her from her home.

“You’re a smart cookie,” Red Alice says.

Maggie tries to channel the swagger she has on her Mateo days. “I’d like to think so, I doubt Gotham PD would’ve made me lead detective if I wasn’t,” she says.

Red Alice crouches down in front of her, her nose practically touching Maggie’s. Maggie hardly dares to breathe.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” she asks.

“No.” Maggie grins at her, but it feels so fake. “But I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

The wide, bright smile that Red Alice gives her is as breathtaking as it is terrifying. It makes Maggie almost regret that she asked.

“I wanted to make sure she’d come,” Red Alice says. 

Maggie’s brow furrows unconsciously. She? 

“I’ve left so many presents, but she hasn’t taken notice. So I took the one thing she would notice.” Red Alice pokes Maggie hard against the chest, making her flinch.  _ “You.” _

“Me? What do you mean? Who are you talking about?” Maggie asks.

Red Alice pouts. “I thought you were smart, Detective. It shouldn’t be that hard, unless you haven’t been paying attention, of course.” She grabs Maggie’s chin. “Look close!”

With the pressure on her jaw, Maggie does as ordered. Green eyes, hazel flecks. She lets her eyes trail down Red Alice’s face. A jaw that looks like it was sculpted by the Romans. Her eyes widen. She knows those eyes, knows that jaw. She’s spent countless lazy mornings staring into those eyes and an equal amount of time pressing kisses along that jaw.

Red Alice lets her jaw go, a pleased smile on her face. 

“That’s not possible,” Maggie whispers. There’s only one other woman who looks like Kate, but she’s been dead for over two decades. 

Red Alice laughs. “Of course it’s possible, anything’s possible in Wonderland!” 

“I don’t remember Alice murdering ten people in Wonderland,” Maggie says.

Red Alice waves a hand dismissively. “That’s an old story. I’m the new Alice, a better Alice, and this is my story,” she says.

“And how does this story end?” Maggie’s almost afraid of the answer.

“With the Red Queen losing her head.” 

Maggie feels her stomach drop at Red Alice’s words. She knows exactly who Red Alice is talking about: Kate. A part of her is tempted to call Red Alice’s bluff, but the rest of Maggie knows that Red Alice is serious. There are ten bodies laying in the morgue to prove it.

“And if the Red Queen doesn’t come?” Maggie asks.

Red Alice appears thoughtful, as if it had never crossed her mind before. Then, “Well, off with your head then.”

Fuck.

Maggie can feel herself starting to sweat. “The Red Queen, she’s, she’s out of town. She won’t know I’m gone, so she won’t come.”

She doesn’t care if that statement puts a bigger target on herself. She won’t be the reason Kate gets hurt or dies tonight. 

“Oh, I think she will. The Red Queen pays close attention to what’s hers.”

Hers.

Maggie’s stomach flutters at Red Alice’s words. Hearing them reminds her of that one song that Kate hums from time to time during Shabbat when the two of them are in bed together.

_ What does it mean? _

_ What does what mean? _

_ Dodi li. _

_ A cough and a blush that matches crimson hair. _

“She won’t come,” Maggie says again. She prays that it’s the truth. 

Red Alice smiles. “She’s already here.”

“What? No, I’m telling you, she’s—”

“Step away from her. Right. Now.”

Maggie’s heart leaps into her throat. Even with the modulator altering it, she knows that voice. Loves that voice. 

Kate.

Red Alice claps happily. “Oh, how delightful, the Red Queen has finally arrived!” she says.

The unimpressed look that Kate gives Red Alice tells Maggie that her girlfriend is out for blood. It’s something that sends a chill through her. Batman is Gotham’s mythic protector; Batwoman is the mythic soldier. Batman may have qualms against killing people, but Batwoman does not. 

“Are you all right, Detective?” 

Detective. Not Maggie. Were she not tied up and at the whims of her girlfriend’s mad twin sister, Maggie would laugh at the professional address. Right now, though, it’s the only clue she has as to how worried Kate is.

Maggie licks her lips. “I’m fine, Batwoman. A little sore, but otherwise as peachy as can be for someone who got kidnapped.”

She sees Kate’s lips twitch into something that resembles a small smile before quickly smoothing back out into a neutral expression.

Red Alice stomps her foot. It’s an entirely inappropriate reaction for a woman of her age, but Maggie realised there’s nothing appropriate about her. Elizabeth Kane is nothing like her sister.

“Katy, stop ignoring me!” Her shrill whine makes Maggie’s head throb harder. She has to fight back a wince. 

Kate tilts her head. “What did you just call me?” she asks. 

The smile on Red Alice’s face is beatific. Somehow, it’s even more terrifying than the wide, bright smile she had given Maggie just minutes before. 

“I called you Katy,” she says.

“I’m Batwoman,” Kate growls out.

Despite the situation, Maggie still smiles. That’s her girlfriend, stubborn as ever and unwilling to give away her hand even when everyone else at the table knows what cards she holds.

Red Alice laughs, “No, it’s not, silly.” She turns around and makes her way back towards Maggie. The beatific smile is still on her face, but with her back now to Kate, it’s turned into something straight out of Maggie’s nightmares. 

Maggie presses herself against the wall she’s cuffed to in a futile attempt to put some distance between her and the insane Kane twin. She barely manages to move to the right before Red Alice’s hand clamps down on her shoulder. She yelps in pain as sharpened nails dig into her shoulder.

Red Alice hauls her up. Maggie has to blink past the stars that rise up in response to the sudden motion. 

She slips behind Maggie and holds her close, placing her head on Maggie’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere, Detective,” she hisses into Maggie’s ear.

Maggie stiffens, both at the voice and at the pressure on her shoulder.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t do my research, Katy?” Red Alice asks. “That I wouldn’t know my own twin?”

Maggie sees understanding dawn on Kate’s face. 

“Beth?” It’s a whisper, but Maggie hears it all the same. She’s certain that Beth hears it too. 

“Once upon a time, yup!” Beth says and pops the p. “I tried so hard to get your attention using those presents I left all over the city, but it didn’t work. All it did was get this nice Detective’s attention. So I went back to the drawing board and did some more research, and I found out she was dating you.”

“So you kidnapped her.” 

Maggie can practically feel Beth’s eyes rolling behind her. 

“Well duh, how else was I supposed to get your attention?” Another giggle. “I’d say it worked to perfection.”

Kate takes a step forward, only to freeze when Beth pulls out a knife. Maggie freezes too, because the knife is pressed against her stomach.

“Ah, ah, ah, I don’t think so, Katy,” Beth cooes. 

“Beth—” 

“I’m Red Alice! And you, you aren’t the queen anymore. I am and as the queen, what I say goes!”

“Tell me what you want then,” Kate demands, desperation clear in her voice, “But let Maggie go!”

Maggie. Not Detective Sawyer. 

Maggie swallows. It takes a lot to shake Kate. To hear that raw edge of fear in her voice breaks Maggie’s heart but also makes her stomach clench. Gotham’s mythic soldier, so ready to kill, now stands terrified of death.

“What do I want…I want a lot of things,” Beth says.

“Should probably start listing them, then,” Maggie grumbles under her breath. 

She might be on the edge of a knife, but she doesn’t have the patience nor the desire to be the audience of a lengthy monologue.  

“I want Katy’s head.” 

Maggie’s jaw clenches. That’s a request that neither she nor Kate will fulfill. She has a feeling that Beth knows that.

“But I don’t think I’ll get it now,” Beth says.

Maggie frowns. From the way that Kate’s lips twitch downwards ever so slightly, she guesses that Kate’s frowning too. Then the sound of sirens start to filter in. It’s faint, but it’s there.

“So I’ll settle for taking her heart instead!”

Maggie’s eyes widen. She barely has enough time to move herself slightly to the right, before the knife pierces her abdomen. 

There’s a dull roar in Maggie’s ears. She locks eyes with Kate for half a second. Then, Beth lets go of the knife and Maggie crumples to the ground.

“You’ve got a choice, Katy,” Maggie hears Beth say, “Do what you came to do, or save the pretty detective here.”

Maggie looks up at Kate across the room. She tries to tell her with her eyes that it’s okay, that she should go after Beth and stop her reign of terror and come back for her later. 

“Fuck you!”

The cackle Beth lets out makes Maggie want to punch her. She would too, if she had the energy and wasn’t losing blood on the ground.

“Tick tock, Katy. Gotta decide: you coming after me, or not?”

“Kate,” Maggie wheezes. 

“When I find you, I’m going to make you pay.” Kate’s voice is low. 

“Oh boo, you’re no fun, Katy. I don’t know why I’m surprised, you were never that fun even when we were kids.” Beth steps over Maggie. “Ta!”

Kate is by her side in the blink of an eye. “Maggie!”

“‘M okay, babe,” Maggie slurs out. “’M okay.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kate whispers against her hair.

“‘S’okay, Kate, ‘s’okay. We’re okay.” 

Maggie’s head feels so heavy. Everything feels so heavy. She’s tired. But that won’t stop her from trying to comfort Kate.

Her eyes start to slip shut, only to open at the feel of Kate’s gloves hand against her cheek.

“No, Mags, your eyes have to stay open!”

“‘M tired, Kate,” Maggie grumbles. She cries out in pain a second later when Kate puts pressure around the wound with her cape to try and stem the bleeding.

“Fuck! ‘M awake now!” But not for long. The adrenaline is starting to dull the pain again, making Maggie sleepy once more. “Kate?”

“Yeah, Mags?”

Maggie smiles the strongest smile that she can at that moment, even though the effort drains of energy she can’t afford to lose. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“What?”

Maggie doesn’t get a chance to answer; her eyes slip shut before she can. The last thing she hears is Kate screaming her name. 

She wakes up to the sound of people talking around her.

_ “Has there been any sign of Beth?” _

_ “No. I’ve put the word out, but she’s gone underground and it sounds like not even Joker wants to deal with her.” _

_ “That means Maggie’s still in danger.”  _ A heavy sigh.  _ “What’s the word from Police Plaza, Babs?” _

_ “Bock’s spitting nails and Mulcahey’s calling for Maggie’s badge. And before you get up to go knock some heads, you should know it’s not gonna happen. My dad already told her to shut up.” _

_ “Maggie can’t stay in Gotham.” _

_ “She won’t have to.”  _ A deep, gruff voice. Bruce. _ “I got word from a friend in National City. She says that NCPD’s looking to staff their new Science Division.” _

_ “And?” _

_ “And I’ve already talked to Gordon. He says he’ll put in a good word for her, though her record will be able to do most of the talking. Even without the commendation coming her way, she’s still one of the best cops in Gotham.” _

Maggie’s heard enough. She may have missed out on most of the conversation, but what she’s heard has given her enough information to form a general idea about what’s going on.

It’s a struggle to open her eyes, but she manages to do it all the same. 

She blearily looks around to see Barbara Gordon, Bruce Wayne, and Kate all gathered around her bed. “‘M not transferring,” is the first thing she says.

The room goes silent immediately. 

“Maggie—” Kate tries.

Maggie shakes her head. She regrets the motion almost immediately, but still manages to growl out, “No.”

She has to take a minute to try and breath through the nausea that washes over her before glancing around the room again. 

Bruce looks cautious, like he already knows about the impending storm that is going to erupt. Barbara, on the other hand, looks nervous. 

“Do you both mind if I get a moment alone with my girlfriend?” Kate asks. 

Barbara yelps out, “Nope!” just as Bruce tips his head and says, “Of course not.”

They’re both gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Maggie and Kate alone together.

The second the door clicks shut, Kate sighs. Maggie’s heart aches at how tired her girlfriend looks. 

“It’s a good position,” Kate says.

“I’m not transferring,” Maggie says, “And I’m not leaving Gotham either.”

“Maggie…”

“No.” It’s even firmer than before. “I’m not leaving Gotham, I’m not transferring out to a different department, and I’m not running.”

She doesn’t run. She fights. That’s how she’s always been. It’s what a machista does. 

“Beth is still out there, which means that you’re still in danger!”

“Because you’re Batwoman.” Maggie chalks the bluntness of her statement up to the drugs coursing through her system. 

Kate rears back, as if she’s just been struck. “You remember?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Maggie would be hard pressed to forget the sound of Kate screaming her name with such panic. It will be a sound that haunts her nightmares for years. “But I’ve known since before we started dating.”

The stunned expression on Kate’s face almost makes Maggie laugh. In any other situation, she certainly would have. Right now, though, all she does is keep her face neutral.

“You-you  _ knew _ ?” 

Maggie nods, “Yeah.”

“How long?” It’s a whisper, as if Kate can’t quite believe she’s saying the words out loud.

“Since my second week in Gotham, right after you and Killer Croc smashed your way through my apartment,” Maggie says.

Kate’s ears turn red. “And you never said anything?” She sounds almost like she’s in awe.

Maggie tries to shrug, then thinks better of it when she feels her abdomen twinge. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.” 

It’s not like Maggie had that much room to be that upset over the fact that Kate refused to come clean about being Batwoman, especially not when she herself hid the truth about her gender identity for so long. 

“I’m sorry,” Kate says.

“It’s not your fault. Beth forced your hand.”

Kate looks stricken. “She went after you because of me,” she says.

“You really think highly of yourself,” Maggie tries to joke. The lack of reaction from Kate tells Maggie that her joke falls flat. “Look, babe, it’s not your fault. For all we know, Beth still would have come after me even if we hadn’t been dating, because I’m the lead detective on the case.”

“You heard what she said,” Kate argues. 

“No offence, but your sister didn’t seem all there,” Maggie says. “She was pushing your buttons and you just happened to respond—”

“And I’ll respond again!” 

Maggie blinks at the vehement response. Her girlfriend is normally so composed, but now she seems at the edge of her rope. There’s a desperation in Kate’s eyes, a desperation tinged by fear. 

Kate lets out a ragged breath. “I know my sister, Mags. We were both always so determined when we were kids, but there were times when she would take it to a whole different level,” she says. “She may have been presumed dead all these years, but I still know her.  _ This _ is one of those times. She won’t stop until she takes my heart. Until she kills you.”

“And if I leave Gotham, she won’t get to do either,” Maggie guesses. She can’t stop a trace of bitterness from slipping into her voice.

Kate’s smile is sad. “If you leave, my heart breaks.” She reaches out to take Maggie’s hand. “But if it means you stay alive, then I can deal with that.”

Maggie grips Kate’s hand. She wants to be angry at what Kate’s suggesting. She wants to scream. But she can’t bring herself to do either, not when the memory of Kate’s own raw, panic-stricken scream of her name flashes through her mind. If she can go the rest of her life without ever hearing that sound in person ever again, Maggie will consider herself blessed.

“Okay,” she relents, “Okay, if Commissioner Gordon brings up the transfer, I’ll take it. I’ll go.”

She can feel her own heart breaking as the word leaves her lips. 

Maggie closes her eyes as Kate moves up to kiss her. She can taste salt on Kate’s lips; she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s starting to cry, or if it’s because Kate’s crying.

“I’m sorry,” Kate whispers against her lips.

Maggie says nothing. She just kisses Kate back harder.

The offer from National City PD comes in a week later. 

It’s a Mateo day when the courier delivers it to the precinct. His coworkers all offer their congratulations.

Covington slaps him on the back. “Damn, look at you Sawyer, getting the best assignments now!” he crows. 

The move draws a pained yelp from Mateo.

“Oh shit, sorry!”

Mateo waves him off. “It’s fine,” he says. 

His statement is followed by a grin. For once, though, his smile feels brittle. If anyone notices, no one says anything.

Mateo signs the acceptance papers that afternoon. 

Three days after the acceptance papers are signed, Maggie finds herself packing for National City. Apparently, NCPD want to meet their newest officer as soon as possible and have her start just as quickly. Maggie doesn’t know if that was their original plan or if someone encouraged it behind the scenes. Knowing the kinds of people her now ex-girlfriend has behind her, she wouldn't be surprised if someone close to Kate pulled extra strings.

Not much is said between the two of them as items are quickly put into boxes. Kate and Bruce are the ones who do most of the heavy lifting; Maggie spends much of the pack out on the couch, per doctor’s orders that she not strain herself. 

When the last book is packed away into the final box, Kate collapses onto the couch next to Maggie. She places her head on Maggie’s shoulder. 

“We’re finally done,” Kate groans.

Maggie hums. She tries to ignore the way her stomach jumps due to the intimacy of Kate’s gesture. She has to stop herself from wrapping an arm around Kate’s shoulders to pull her close. It would be so easy to fall right back into their old pattern, but they’re exes now. They have to stay that way.

“Maggie?”

Maggie glances at her. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to miss you.”

Maggie bites her lip. She gives into the urge and presses a kiss to Kate’s fiery red hair. 

“I’m going to miss you too, Kate.”

Bruce is the one who drops her off at Gotham City International. 

It feels weird to Maggie, to be dropped off in a town car driven by the richest man in the midwest. Still, she won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when that gift horse makes more in a year than she’ll probably ever make in a lifetime.

He shakes her hand. “Take care of yourself, Maggie,” he says.

Maggie grins as she returns the handshake. In the year that she’s known him, she could never get him to call her Maggie. At least, not until now. 

“You too, Bruce.” Maggie spots a car in the distance. She knows that car, spent countless dates in that car. 

Kate.

The car keeps its distance. It hurts, but ultimately Maggie knows its for the best.

Her grip tightens around Bruce’s hand momentarily. “Take care of her for me,” she says quietly.

Bruce nods. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

Maggie sleeps the entire 4.5 hour flight to National City. She dreams of Kate and Kate’s car and the feel of Kate’s lips on hers. When she arrives in National City, she pretends that her watery eyes are from having just woken up instead of grief.

National City is different than Gotham, and it’s very different from Blue Springs. It’s brighter and warmer in National City than it is in Gotham, both in terms of temperature and the attitudes of the people. It’s louder in a way that Blue Springs never was and probably never will people be. She chalks both up to the sunny disposition of National City’s resident superhero, Supergirl.

As different as National City is from Gotham and from Blue Springs, early on, she finds herself homesick for both. When she sees queer couples out on the streets going about their business, oblivious to the everything but each other, she ducks her head to hide both a smile and her grief. It makes her heart soar to see people like herself, especially younger people, feeling so comfortable to be their authentic selves, but it also reminds her of everything she’s either had to give up or never got to experience. 

Maggie’s third weekend in National City is when she finds the local queer youth center. 

He’s Mateo the day he walks in. 

“Detective Sawyer, NCPD,” he introduces himself to the receptionist. “I saw a thing on y’all’s Facebook about a position for a queer mentor?”

The receptionist, Abby according to her nametag, looks surprised. 

Mateo raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” he asks.

“No!” Abby flushes. “It’s just, we don’t often have NCPD officers offering to mentor the kids here.”

Mateo’s not surprised to hear that. That’s something he wants to change. He’s just one person, but he knows that sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“I’m a new transfer from Gotham,” he says. “I was a mentor back out there.”

Abby nods. “Okay. Well then, let me just go get our director and let her know that we have someone interested in being a mentor.”

Mateo smiles as she leaves before glancing around the center. There are dozens of kids. Some are gaming away, others are shooting pool. A handful of them aren’t human, if pointed ears and spots are anything to go by, but most of them are.

One stands out in particular, not too far from where Mateo stands. 

He’s a boy who looks like just like Mateo did when he was that age: a small Mexican with a scowl on his face. 

As subtle as Mateo tries to be, the youth notices him staring. The deepening scowl is the only warning he has before the youth is up on his feet and marching towards him.

“What’chu lookin’ at?!” the youth demands as soon as he’s in front of Mateo. 

The gruff, guttural growl that cracks at the end, the way his shoulders hunch forward, the scowl that looks intimidating to no one but the boy wearing it, seeing it transports Mateo back to his abuelos' bathroom. He sees himself standing in front of a mirror, wearing a guayabera that’s four sizes too big.

“Well?!”

“Myself,” Mateo says simply.

The youth blinks. His shoulders fall back. The scowl disappears. In its place is a look that Mateo is all to familiar with: fear and hope. It makes his heart ache.

Mateo holds his hand out. “Maggie Sawyer,” he says, “But today it’s Mateo.”

The youth takes his hand cautiously, hopefully. “Adrian Rodriguez,” he says slowly. “It’s always Adrian.”

Mateo smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Adrian,” he says and he means it.

Adrian nods. “Likewise.” He licks his lips. “So, you, you’re like me?”

Mateo nods. “Yeah.”

Adrian looks him up and down. Mateo forces himself to relax. This isn’t a guy sizing him up at a bar to determine how many of his buddies he needs to beat the ever living shit out of a mouthy Mexican. This is a teenager who’s looking at someone he didn’t know existed.

“Can you show me how to, you know, be like you?” he asks. Mateo quirks an eyebrow, sending Adrian scrambling to continue, “I’m a guy! I am! I just, this, it feels—”

“Off?” Mateo guesses.

“Yeah.” Whatever bravado Adrian had going on vanishes before his eyes. “I’m a guy,” he says again, “I’m just, I’m not like one of those gringuitos.”

“I know.” He really does.

The hope that shines Adrian’s eyes is almost blinding. “So does that mean you’ll teach me?”

Mateo thinks back to the scrawny teenager in the oversized guayabera. He thinks about how long he had spent floundering, desperately trying to figure out how to get machismo to work for him. He thinks about how much he wanted someone like him,  _ needed _ someone like him, when he was Adrian’s age. He thinks, he nods.

“Yeah.”

The hug comes as a surprise. It’s tight and heavy and knocks the breath right out of him. But he returns it all the same. He looks over Adrian’s head, out towards the rest of the community centre and sees other kids just like Adrian scattered throughout the space. Mateo closes his eyes.

He’ll be the man he needed to see growing up all those years ago. He’ll teach Adrian what machismo should be. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Guayabera - A formal-ish shirt that's popular in many Spanish-speaking regions. They're lightweight, which makes them great for hot and/or humid weather.
> 
> Vato - slang for 'dude' or 'homie'
> 
> Machista - a guy who adheres to machismo. Associated with a guy who is aggressive and sexist.
> 
> con quién estás hablando? - Who are you talking to?
> 
> con nadie - no one/nobody
> 
> Que paso aquí y por que llevas puesta la guayabera de tu abuelo? - What are you doing here and why are you wearing your's abuelo's guayabera?
> 
> para un experimento de ciencia, y necesitaba una chaqueta así que la traje - For a science experiment and I needed a jacket, so I wore this. 
> 
> Ya veo, pues tu abuelo va a volver aquí en diez minutos, así que pon la guayabera en nuestra habitación. - I see, well your grandfather going to be back in ten minutes, so go put the guayabera back in our bedroom.
> 
> hice algo mal - Did I do something wrong?
> 
> Me deshonraste. - You shamed me (lit. you dishonoured me)
> 
> Salte. Ahora. - Get out. Now.
> 
> Dime qué pasó - Tell me what happened.
> 
> Nada, no pasó nada - Nothing, nothing happened.
> 
> No hay nada mas - There's nothing else.
> 
> Él no sabe nada - He knows nothing.
> 
> Gringo/a - A white person. Diminutive form is gringuito.


	6. Closet, feat. Genderfluid!Maggie - Director Sanvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cramped quarters of the closet reminded Mateo that the last he had been in a room this close to Kate Kane, it had been a Maggie day and Kate had just broken both of their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort of sequel of Coming Out, inspired by a conversation I had with @nerdsbianhokie

Maggie knows something is up as soon as she walks into the DEO. For once, there’s an agent there to escort her.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got free reign to go all over the place here,” she says.

Vasquez shrugs. “I’ve been ordered to bring you to the conference room,” they say.

“...There’s a conference room?”

There is, in fact, a conference room. The path to it is a convoluted mess of three floors, sixteen turns, two elevator trips and, for some strange reason, a pitstop by a random vending machine. By the time she and Vasquez finally arrive, Maggie’s head is spinning. 

“Now I know why they had you escort me,” she says.

Vasquez just grins in response. They open the door and usher her inside. 

The moment she steps inside, she hears, “You’ve worked with Gotham PD before, haven’t you, Detective Sawyer?” 

Maggie blinks at the question. 

Heads turn to look at her. 

J’onn raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response.

She gives him a slow nod. “Yeah, they were my first assignment,” she says. “Eventually got stabbed, then NCPD poached me.”

More eyebrows go up. She tries not to grin at the incredulous looks both Alex and Lucy send her way.

J’onn exchanges a look with Lucy, who gives him a curt nod. He returns the nod, before looking back at Maggie. 

“Perfect,” he says. “I’ll be sending your captain a request that you temporarily be assigned to the DEO.”

Maggie frowns. “Wait, what?” She feels like she’s missed something.

“Gotham PD’s commissioner has requested the DEO’s help on a case,” he says. “Given how insular Gotham’s police department is known to be, I need someone who’s familiar with how they work to go with my team and make sure things go smoothly.”

Wait, he can’t possibly mean what she thinks he means.

“I need you to go to Gotham, Detective.”

Maggie waits for the punchline, but when nothing comes, she just stares.

Well. Fuck.

-

“That scar on your stomach,” Alex says once the three of them are home, “That’s from your time in Gotham, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Maggie doesn’t see any point in lying or trying to play the question off. 

“How did it happen?” Lucy asks.

_ A giggle straight from her nightmares _

_ A sharp pain in her stomach _

_ Kate screaming _

“Either of you hear about  _ The Red Alice Massacre _ ?” she asks.

There’s a vague spark of recognition in both Alex and Lucy’s eyes, but nothing concrete. Maggie isn’t surprised. Gotham has serial killers in spades, but only the ones with the truly spectacular body counts or methods ever reach the national news stage. 

Maggie sighs and sits on the bed. “It’s a case I worked, four, maybe five years ago. A bunch of people were found murdered and the only thing tying them together were pages of Lewis Carroll’s  _ Alice in Wonderland _ . I was the one that found the connection, so I got made lead detective on the case.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Bodies dropped pretty consistently during the whole thing, but we weren’t really able to get anywhere, which I think kind of frustrated Red Alice because she wound up kidnapping me.”

“She  _ what _ ?” Lucy sounds aghast.

Alex looks thoughtful. “That explains why you were so calm when that Infernian kidnapped you,” she muses.

Maggie laughs. “Yeah, after Red Alice, anything else might as well be a cakewalk, honestly, because at least most kidnappers don’t start off planning to kill their hostage,” she says.

“She’d planned to?” Alex asks.

Maggie rubs the back of her head. “Ish?” It comes out as more a question than a definitive answer. “Her original target was Kate Kane, who happened to be my girlfriend at the time.”

Lucy whistles, “Oh, damn.”

“Yeah,” Maggie nods. “She couldn’t get to Kate because Kate had just left for a business trip earlier that week, so she grabbed me. And then K-Batwoman showed up.”

If either Lucy or Alex notice her slip up, neither of them say anything.

“Batwoman?” Alex sounds surprised.

“Yup, Batwoman.” Maggie can’t stop the pride from entering her voice as she says the name. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop being proud that Kate is a hero. “Though, to be honest, I don’t remember much after her arrival. Red Alice stabbed me right after. I woke up a week later in the hospital.”

It’s a lie. She remembers everything. Remembers the knife going into her stomach. Remembers Beth’s laughter. Remembers Kate screaming, begging her to stay awake.

“Then NCPD poached you?” Lucy raises an eyebrow.

Maggie shrugs. “I got a bunch of commendations and solved the case, even if the perp managed to get away,” she says. “Heard afterwards that Commissioner Gordon himself put in a good word for me when he heard that NCPD was looking for people to staff the Science Division.”

Alex takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Well, I guess it’s good that he did, because it got you here,” she says.

Maggie smiles faintly. She squeezes Alex’s hand back three times. “Yeah.” 

She might have lost everything she had at the time thanks to Beth: her career in Gotham, Kate, her ability to walk down the street without having to constantly look over her shoulder. But she’d managed to get some of it back. She had two wonderful girlfriends who accepted who she was and a career that was thriving.

Lucy sits next to Maggie and places her head on Maggie’s shoulder. “How long has it been since you’ve been back to Gotham?” she asks.

Maggie’s smile vanishes. “Four, maybe, five years,” she says.

“How come?” Alex asks, curious.

Because Kate had told her to stay away. Because Kate had broken both of their hearts. Because going back to Gotham would mean falling back into old habits with the woman she had loved. Because she and Kate were exes, and they had to stay that way for both of their sakes.

“Because it’s hard to go back to a place where your ex is the twin of the woman who tried to kill you and looks exactly like her,” Maggie lies.

Lucy pulls away. “Wait, what?”

A bitter smile makes its way across Maggie’s lips. “Yeah, turned out that Red Alice happened to be Kate’s long presumed dead twin sister. Talk about a kick to the head, right?”

For once, both of her girlfriends are speechless.

-

It’s a Mateo day the morning they arrive in Gotham.

Alex and Lucy already know; he told them even before they left National City. His hair is tied back in a neat braid, courtesy of Lucy. His confidence is up thanks to Alex calling him dapper due to the leather jacket and jeans that he wears.

But when he steps outside of Gotham International, he feels his confidence start to fade. In its place is a nervous energy that skyrockets when a set of black cars pulls up. 

Mateo recognises the car at the head. How could he not? He had spent countless dates being driven, and driving, that car.

Kate gets out of the car. 

He stops breathing. Of course, Kate is the one to pick them all up. Of course, she is.

“You must all be the DEO,” she says as soon as she walks up. “I’m Kate Kane, Gotham PD’s liaison for this —Detective Sawyer.”

Mateo tips his head. “Ms. Kane,” he greets.  

He can feel the eyes of the DEO team on him. Alex and Lucy’s gazes, in particular, burn against his back. He doesn’t have to look at them to know that they’re shifting ever so slightly just in case they need to protect him.

“How’re you doing?” she asks. The way her voice catches in the beginning tells him that it’s a question she hadn’t meant to ask out loud in front of everyone.

On instinct, he says, “Doin’ mighty.”

He feels himself flush as soon as the words leave his lips. He kicks himself internally. He hasn't seen or spoken to Kate in years. There's no way Kate remembers their code.  

He’s surprised when Kate nods. He’s even more surprised when she says, “Well, good to see that after all these years, you’re still handsome as ever.”

Mateo feels the flush turn into a raging blush. Behind him, there's a cough from Lucy and a small growl from Alex. A part of him wants to hate how easy it is that the two of them fell right back into things, as if he's only been gone for a week, as if they were still together. But they weren't together. Kate had broken both of their hearts for his own safety.

He ducks his head and lets out a small cough of his own. “Uh, we should probably head back to the precinct,” he says. “From what I remember, traffic’ll be killer soon.”

And the last thing he wants right now is to be stuck in traffic in a car with Kate.

“Right.” Kate glances back at her car then back at the group. “Whoever’s in command of y’all, you’ll be riding with me, that includes you, Detective Sawyer, the rest of you can pile into the cars behind mine.”

She’s off to her car before anyone can say anything, leaving Mateo to stare at her back.

He hears Alex and Lucy come up behind him. 

“Are you all right?” Alex whispers.

Mateo fiddles with the strap of his backpack. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. 

On the list of things he had expected to happen upon his return to Gotham, running into Kate Kane had been very low on his list. Having to work with her? That wasn’t on the list at all. He’s not sure if he’s ready for that.

“Kane’s waiting, and she looks impatient,” Lucy mutters.

“She’s Kate,” Mateo says simply. 

She’s Kate and this is Gotham. He thought he had moved on from both. The way his stomach twists nervously, though, tells him otherwise.

-

Precinct 47 doesn’t look like it’s changed much over the last five years. The air is still grungy. The ancient coffee machine chugs away in the background. His old desk is still positioned on the far end of the bullpen, giving whoever sat there a perfect view of the entire room. 

The one thing, or rather the one person, that has changed is his old partner, Jay Covington.

“Damn, Sawyer, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Covington pulls him into a quick hug before he can respond and gives him a hearty pat on the back.

Mateo pulls back, grinning. “Can’t believe they made you a sergeant,” he says. 

“Right? Who would’ve thought?” Covington returns his grin. “But look at you, you’re a fed now!”

Mateo rolls his eyes. “I’m a department liaison,” he says.

“Like Kane?”

Mateo already knows where Covington’s brain is going. He gives him a warning look. “Don’t start.”

Covington holds his hands up in a placating manner. “All right, all right,” he says. He looks behind Mateo. “Y’all can go set up over by the coffee machine. The detectives who normally sit in that area are out today.”

Mateo raises an eyebrow at that. “Out, like on vacation, or out like dead?” he asks under his breath as the rest of Alex and Lucy’s team move to the mentioned area.

“Well, Jaina’s out on maternity leave.” Mateo blinks at that. “Yeah, I know, it’s weird thinking about her as a mom, but she and Derek just adopted a kid from a bad case.”

“And now it makes sense.” 

“Mhm,” Covington hums. 

“What about her partner?”

Covington winces. “Marty’s in Mercy for the foreseeable future,” he mutters. “Had a bad reaction to Scarecrow's fear toxin.”

Mateo shares the wince. He’s been on the receiving end of it once before. It’s the worst high he’s ever had.

“He coming back?” he asks.

“Depends on how bad it broke him.” Covington glances at him. “Speaking of things that broke…”

Mateo pinches the bridge of his nose. He already knows where this is going. “Jay…” he sighs.

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Kate broke up before you left?” he asks.

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Mateo lies. 

“Are you kidding?” On instinct, Mateo thumps him in the shoulder as a reminded to keep his voice down. “You nearly died and she breaks up with you? How the fuck is that not a big deal?”

Because he couldn’t make it a big deal. Because Kate had made a decision for him without involving him until the very end. Because she had broken both of their hearts for his own good.

“Because I left,” he says instead. “I left, Jay. It wasn’t fair to her that we continue the relationship when the chances of me coming back were close to zero.”

It’s just one of the many lies that he had told others who’d asked about his dating history. No one, other than Kate, himself, Bruce, and Barbara, knew the real reason behind his and Kate’s break up.

“Right.” Covington doesn’t look or sound like he believes him. 

Mateo sighs. “Look, just drop it, okay? I’m only here to work—”

“I can’t drop it when I have an active case that depends on a good working relationship between the DEO and this squad, both of which happen to include you and Kate,” he says. “I can’t have unresolved break-up drama between the two of you making things tense and cocking up my precinct when people are fucking  _ dying _ , Mags.”

Mateo’s jaw clenches at Covington’s words. He’s read the case file. He knows how bad things are for Gotham PD to have called in outside resources for help. 

“Kate and I are both grown ups, Jay,” he says, “we can work together just fine.”

Covington’s eyebrow rises higher. “Just like old times?” he asks.

Mateo nods. “Yeah, just like old times.”

The grin on his face feels so fake as he says it.

-

“How many cups is she up to now?” Lucy asks under her breath.

Mateo eyes the small mountain of cups on his old desk. “Six?” he guesses. “Not counting the cup she stole from Vasquez.”

Alex’s caffeine consumption is something that’s never failed to impress him. She can drink anyone under the table, unless the beverage is apple juice; she refuses to drink apple juice. He’s even more impressed by the fact that she’s managed to down six cups of Gotham PD precinct coffee in a row.

“...I’m a little worried about her stomach,” he mutters. 

“She’ll be fine,” Lucy says. “Besides, the pot’s empty now.”

To see that ancient coffee pot empty is a first for him. There’d always been at least a cup of coffee in it. Some of the cops in the precinct used to swear up and down that there was always at least a drop from the very first cup that pot had ever produced. Mateo never bothered to taste-test if it was true or not; as much as he loved black coffee, he didn’t love it enough to risk the ulcers the batch at the precinct was sure to produce.

Alex looks up from the report she’s reading. “Do they have more coffee?” she asks.

Lucy coughs to cover a laugh. Even Mateo’s lips twitch into something resembling an amused smile. 

“The beans should be down the hall,” he says. “I’ll go see if I can find them.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kate flip a file shut. “I’ll come with you,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “I know where the supply closet is.” He remembers the precinct like the back of his hand. 

“Yeah, but you’ll need someone tall to get the beans down because Covington put them on the high shelf,” she says.

There's a cough from Vasquez in the background. Mateo resists the urge to glare at them. Behind Kate, Alex looks torn between wanting to laugh or glare at the back of Kate's head. The expression on Lucy's face is wary amusement.

He sighs. “Fine.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns on his heel. 

“Your friends don’t really like me all that much, do they?” Kate asks, once they’re far enough away from the squadroom.

He feels his stomach flip at the word  _ friends _ . Lucy and Alex are more than just friends. They’re his girlfriends. To have someone refer to either of them as a friend feels like such a disservice to them and their relationship.

He shrugs. “They’re protective.” Especially because, thanks to the half-truth he had told them the night before, they think he’s afraid of her when he’s really not. He could never be afraid of Kate.

-

Mateo frowns when he finds the supply closet locked. “Since when is the closet locked?” he asks.

Kate pulls out a key. “Since Harley Quinn escaped custody for fifteen minutes and ate all of Covington’s chocos,” she says, unlocking it. 

He winces. He knows from experience just how protective Covington is over those chocolate cookies. Mateo’s hand throbs in memory from the day that Covginton had nearly broken it for trying to grab a single choco. 

Kate pushes the door open. “Gentlemen first,” she says.

He rolls his eyes. “Was she here on murder charges?” he asks.

She flips on a light. “Nope, she showed up to be Poison Ivy’s alibi, but she had an outstanding warrant for failure to appear at trial so Richardson cuffed her,” she says.

Mateo blinks against the sudden change in light. “That’s like catching Capone for tax evasion.”

Kate chuckles. “She got slapped with six months probation. She’s been pretty good at staying on the straight and narrow ever since.”

Mateo gives her a look. “Nothing about Harley Quinn is straight,” he says. He would know. The handful of times Harley had kidnapped him during a case, she had done so on a Maggie day, and spent much of the time either fliriting or debating about sexuality and psychology.

“True.”

Mateo looks around. The closet looks much more organised that it did when he last worked here. Not only can he tell what’s on the shelves, but he can also actually see to the back of the shelves.

“Wow, it’s really cleaned up in here,” he says. 

Kate hums, “Yeah, Jaina got fed up with losing rookies to the closet so she came in one weekend and just organised everything.”

He bends down to squint at the small printed labels on each shelf. Definitely Jaina’s handwork. A thought hits him. 

“Hey, is that one issue with the door been fixed?” he asks absently.

He can feel the glance Kate tosses his way as she rumages for coffee beans. “You mean the one where the door shuts itself?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“It hasn’t, so don’t let the door—” 

It’s a warning that comes half a second too late.

He leans forward to get a better look at what looks like spare vests on the shelf when he hears the door clunk shut behind him.

Oops.

Mateo immediately turns around and tries the door handle. The last thing he wants right now is to be stuck in a closet with Kate. He doesn’t think he can take that right now, not without several drinks and a long, panicked ramble to his girlfriends beforehand.

The handle doesn’t give.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” he mutters.

“The key’s probably stuck out front,” he hears Kate say from behind him. 

“Not for long,” he says. 

He tries the handle again, harder this time. Other than a small grinding sound, there’s no reaction from the door. 

Mateo lets out a frustrated breath. “Third time’s the charm and all that,” he says to himself. 

Kate sighs. “Mateo, stop, you’re going to—” she starts.

He goes for a third try. If he can just get the key to move then—

There’s an unmistakable sound of snapping metal. 

Mateo freezes, hand still on the doorknob. Behind him, he hears the sound of Kate’s palm meet her face.

“Break the key,” she finishes. He doesn’t have to turn around and look at her to know that she’s got an exasperated expression on her face.

He finally takes his hand off the door handle and turns around to give her his most sheepish look. “Oops.” 

Kate sighs, heavier this time. She pulls out her phone.

“Who’re you calling?” he asks.

“Texting Covington, see if he can get someone to get us out.” There’s a beat, then a fwomp that signals a response. “Fuck.”

“Fuck?” he asks. “That a good fuck, like ‘fuck yes he’s got someone’, or a bad fuck, like ‘fuck, we’re stuck?’”

“Fuck as in the locksmith, Jimmy, you remember him?” Mateo nods. “Yeah, well, there’s a bank robbery on Fifth and he’s one of the hostages.”

Given that this is Gotham, Mateo’s not that surprised. Still, he thumps his head against the back of the door.

“Fuck.”

-

_ You ok? _

Mateo smiles at the text from Lucy.

_ I’m fine,  _ he texts back. He glances up to where Kate is sitting.  _ Kate’s just meditating. Or she’s asleep. Or both.  _

_ Lol _

His fingers rapidly thump against the screen,  _ How’s Alex? _

_ Ready to knock heads. Think she’s 10s away from having Vas build a hacksaw _

He can’t stop the laugh that comes up. 

“What’s so funny?” 

He looks up at Kate. She has an eyebrow raised at him. He holds up his phone.

“Alex wants to take a hacksaw to the door,” he says.

He sees Kate’s lips twitch into something that resembles a small smile. It makes him smile ever so slightly.

“She’s welcome to try. The metal’s tempered and reinforced to prevent something like that, though,” she says.

He stares. “Are you serious?”

“Yup,” she says and pops the p.

“Because of chocos.” Mateo knows that Covington loves his chocos, but reinforcing the door handle to a supply closet seems a bit excessive, even by his standards.

Kate nods. “I mean, the chocos are a part of it, but there’s also like a gun every 20 feet or so here in the precinct,” she says.

“Ah.” That makes more sense. When he last worked in Gotham, it felt like precincts were being turned into battlegrounds every other week. 

“Mhm,” she hums. “Best get comfy, ‘cause we’re going to be here a while.”

Wonderful.

Mateo tips his head back and closes his eyes. He’s not afraid of enclosed spaces, but he’s also never been a big fan of them either. At least there’s a light in the closet so that he’s not trapped in the dark. It’s enough to keep the memories of Alex in a glass tank at bay.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes open at the question. He sees Kate looking at him with concern clear in her eyes. He stands up and pretends to stretch.

“I’m fine,” he lies. He has to fight to keep his voice even. 

He’s not fine. It’s easy to smile when Lucy is texting him, easy to laugh when he reads about Alex’s plans. It’s hard to keep that smile up in the face of silence, especially when he’s trapped in that silence with his ex. The closet may be well-organised but it’s still cramped. It reminds him that the last time he had been in a room this close to Kate, it had been a Maggie day and Kate had just broken both of their hearts.

Kate doesn’t look like she believes him. For half a second, it looks like she wants to call him out on his bullshit, but to his relief, she lets it go.

Then, she asks, “How are you and Alex doing?”

The question makes him blink. “What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.

“Like, relationship-wise.” Mateo feels his stomach flip. “She’s your girlfriend, right?”

He suddenly feels like he’s just been shoved off balance. Still, he does his best to not let it show. He can’t let it show, not in front of Kate. Not right now. Not anymore.

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, we’re doing fine, great even!” It’s a neutral enough response. Then, he frowns. “Hey, wait, how did you know she’s my girlfriend?”

He and Kate haven’t spoken in years. He’s never told her that he has a girlfriend.

Kate’s face turns slightly pink. She looks away, a move that makes him raise an eyebrow at her. “I, I might’ve kept some tabs,” she admits. “Just to make sure that you were doing okay.”

With Kate looking away from him, she doesn’t see Mateo bite his lip. He bites down so tight that he swears he can taste blood. Of course she kept tabs on him. Of course she did. But she still never bothered to contact him, did she?

“Oh.” He wonders what else she knows. He quickly licks his lips. “Are you, are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” she says. “I mean, I was, a few years back. Renee Monotya, you know, that detective from Major Crimes?”

He knows her. She and he had bonded early on during his career in Gotham over their shared queerness and Mexican heritage, but had lost touch shortly after he transferred to National City.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, I was with her for a while, but I, I broke it off,” Kate says.

He frowns. “Why?”

Kate shrugs. “Beth was still out there. Renee’s her own person and I know that, but I got worried that Beth might not know and—”

“She would go after Renee,” he finishes for her. 

“Yeah.”

It makes sense. He knows that Beth had a type. Knows that Kate has a type. Maybe that’s why her answer doesn’t sit right with him. Mateo knows Kate. He knows she’s not saying everything.

He doesn’t say anything about it, though. There will be time to do that later. Right now, he needs to know what else she knows.

“Speaking of Beth, how is she?” he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knows the answer, but he wants to know if Kate knows what he knows. Needs to know if she knows what he knows.

Kate finally glances back to him. “She’s doing okay. They finally apprehended her. She’s in Arkham now.”

Mateo nods. “I’m glad.” He bites his lip again. “Remind me how long she’s been in there again? Was it two years or three?”

He sees her stiffen.

“You—”

“Already knew?” He raises an eyebrow at her. “Yeah.”

“How did you find out?” There’s a defensive note in her voice. It makes him want to laugh.

Instead, he gives her a sardonic grin. “I’m a detective, Kate,” he says, “I detect.”

“Mateo.” Whatever warmth she had in her voice before is gone now. It’s obvious that she’s no longer in the mood for casual banter or games.

He folds his arms and leans back against the wall. “I kept tabs on the case.” And on you too, he wants to add, but he keeps that tidbit to himself. “I found out two years ago.  _ Two. _ ”

It had been a bad week for him when he found out. He had been so relieved, but also so furious that no one had bothered to tell him themselves.

“Mateo—”

“Did you ever plan on telling me?” he demands. “I mean, it’s not like I expected a long, drawn out phone call or anything, but a text, hell even a fucking email would’ve been nice!”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she says. “You were in National City. You had a new life, from the looks of it. A new relationship. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“So you made the decision to keep me in the dark,” he says. “You made a decision  _ for me  _ without involving me.”

He watches her bristle. “This is not the same thing as that!” she fires back.

“Really? It isn’t?” he asks. He takes a step closer to her. “From where I’m standing, it looks and sounds exactly the same.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she says again. “I didn’t want to ruin the life you’d built there.”

“Yeah, well, I deserved to know from the person closest to me that it was safe for me to come back,” he says. “Instead, I found out from a newspaper, on Page fucking Six of all things, that Beth was finally in jail.”

“Mateo…”

“I waited for a call,” he whispers, “for a text, for an email, for  _ something. _ It didn’t have to be from you, Kate, but I just wanted to know that I was still a part of the family. And you know what I thought when all I got was radio silence?”

She doesn’t respond to his question. He doesn’t expect her to. 

He steps even closer to Kate, so that they’re almost pressed against each other. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. That maybe, you’d finally come to hate me—”

She cuts him off almost immediately, “That’s not true!”

“And how was I supposed to know that?” he asks hotly. “How was I supposed to know when you never reached out? You could’ve reached out at any time after Beth went to Arkham, but you didn’t!”

He half expects her to spit out another bull shit excuse along the lines of not wanting to ruin the new life he had in National City. But he doesn’t get that.

Instead, he hears, “I wanted to!”

The ferocity in her voice makes him blink.

Kate’s chest in heaving. “I wanted to, god knows I wanted to,” she says.

“So why didn’t you?” His voice sounds so small in his ears now.

“Because I didn’t know what to say. ‘Hey, Beth’s finally in jail, it’s safe to come home now, I’m sorry for ripping your heart out and stomping on it, but I had to in order to keep you safe?’” she snarks. “‘Hey, I know we haven’t spoken in years because we broke up to keep my insane sister from killing you, but come back because I still love you?’” You tell me what I was supposed to say to you, ‘Teo, tell me.”

He knows that her entire tirade is important, but the only thing he can focus on is that she said she still loves him. 

“You still love me?” he asks.

The laugh that Kate lets out sounds so hoarse to his ears. 

“Really? Out of everything I just said, that’s the one thing you focus on?” she asks.

“You broke up with me,” he reminds her. “You broke up with me and never bothered to contact me, even after Beth was finally in jail, so you’re gonna have to forgive me if I’m a little taken aback to find out that you still love me.”

“Is it that hard to believe?” she asks.

He shifts so that he’s standing next to her now with his back also against the wall. “It’s been almost five years,” he says. “And you had a girlfriend who I’m pretty sure you had genuine feelings for, because you’re not the kind of person who just dates someone for shits and giggles.”

Page Six might think that’s what Kate Kane does, but he knows better. Kate’s life has made her cautious, both in action and in love.

He closes his eyes when he feels her fingers intertwine with his. He has to resist the urge to squeeze her hand just like old times. 

“I did have feelings for Renee,” Kate admits, “but for all the wrong reasons.”

He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He waits for her to continue.

Kate lets out a heavy breath. “I broke up with Renne because she started to remind me of you,” she murmurs. “Or maybe, she always did and I just pretended that she didn’t until I couldn’t anymore and it wasn’t fair to her once I couldn’t keep pretending. Beth, Beth was just a convenient excuse for the break up. I think Renee knew that, though, because she didn’t say anything when we did.”

Mateo feels a stab of sympathy for Renee. It couldn’t have been easy for Renee, eventually realising that Kate saw her as a replacement for a ghost.

“After Beth, I wanted to contact you. I really did, but then I saw you and Alex on Facebook and you both looked so happy together, I didn’t want to intrude on that.”

“You still could’ve called to tell me that she’d been apprehended, Kate,” he says.

“I know, and I should’ve, Babs told me that much.” There’s a small grimace that crosses her face at that. He has a feeling that Barbara had been extremely blunt during that conversation. “It’s just, it’s almost like that one book,  _ If You Give a Mouse a Cookie _ —”

“Seriously?” he asks.

She pokes his shoulder. “Yes, seriously, so shut up.”

He smirks and gets another sharp jab to his shoulder in response.

“If I started talking to you again, I would’ve asked you to come back, and I couldn’t ask that of you.”

No, she couldn’t. Not when he had been gone for so long. Not when he had come so far in National City. If she had asked him back then to come back, it would have put them right back where they started: hurt and angry, because he wouldn’t be able to come back and stay. At least, not without an actual conversation at first.

“You could’ve at least asked me over for dinner,” he says absently.

Kate raises an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me? Did you miss the part where I acknowledge that you have a girlfriend, thereby implying that I couldn’t ask you over in the first place?”

He coughs. “Uh, yeah, I, um, I have two.”

The eyebrow drops into a frown. “Mateo Sawyer, are you telling me that you’re cheating on Alex?” she demands.

“No! I’m dating Alex and Lucy together!” he blurts out.

“Oh.”

Mateo winces at her response. “Yeah.” 

“That’s not on Facebook,” she says.

It’s rare to see Kate so thrown off. If he didn’t feel like he was about to throw up from nerves, Mateo probably would’ve had felt slightly pleased knowing that he’s managed to take the world’s greatest detective off guard.

“Do you seriously get all of your information off of Facebook?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s public information.”

“I have privacy settings—”

“Which are complete crap,” she says. “Honestly, the first time I found your page, I was a little embarrassed for you because of how easy it was to find things.”

He can feel his cheeks flaming. “...remind me to call Babs and have her fix that for me before I leave,” he mutters.

Kate laughs. It makes him smile. Her laugh is such a wonderful sound. He’s missed that sound. It’s one of his favourites to hear, right after Alex and Lucy’s own laughs.

“I’ve never seen Lucy on your feed as anything other than a friend,” Kate says once her laughter has died down.

That word again. Friend. He’s out to everyone he loves about having two girlfriends, but the second he leaves National City, he finds himself right back in the closet. 

“She’s Director of the DEO, but she’s still active duty,” he says. “She goes to Capitol Hill twice a month to defend herself and her organisation against crusty old white men who want nothing more than to see her crash and burn, Kate.”

“Army?” 

“Yeah, West Point bred.” Just like you, goes unsaid.

Kate lets out a low whistle and nods. “Your girlfriends are badasses,” she says.

He feels a wave of relief wash through him at her words. He grins, because she understands, perhaps better than even he does, the struggle that Lucy faces. They had both suffered under DADT, and Kate had lost her career before it had a chance to start because of it.

She leans her head on his shoulder. “You know, this really explains why they didn’t seem too fond of me earlier,” she says.

“That’s kind of my fault,” he admits. When she glances at him, he continues, “I gave them an abridged version of what happened with Beth, but I made it seem like I left Gotham because you reminded me too much of her.”

“Do I?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No, never.” He gives into the urge and squeezes her hand. “I promise. I just, I didn’t want to give too much away and compromise you.”

Kate’s eyes soften. “Thank you,” she whispers and presses a kiss to his cheek.

They both freeze as soon as her lips meet his skin.

Kate pulls away almost immediately. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Mateo tightens his grip around her hand ever so slightly. It’s more for his own comfort than anything else; the tight quarters of the closet mean that she won’t be able to get that far anyway.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly.

A part of him has to wonder if it really is, though. Afterall, this is the first time he and Kate have had any sort of conversation or contact with each other in years. Sure, they may have fallen into such an easy intimacy with each other, as if no time had passed, but time  _ has  _ passed.  He’s a different person now than he was when he left Gotham, and so is she. 

Kate gives him a look. She may still love him, but he knows she’s never been the type of woman to go along with something that could be perceived as infidelity. 

He’s not that kind of person either. 

“We should talk,” he blurts.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” she asks.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” he says. “By we, I mean you, me, Alex, and Lucy.”

He needs to involve his girlfriends in this conversation sooner rather than later, for everyone’s sake. He has no idea how long the case will take, and he can’t avoid Kate while he’s here. They can act in a professional manner with each other only so much. He doesn’t know if the history they share and all the baggage is obvious to everyone else, but he knows it won’t take Alex and Lucy long to figure it out. Neither of them are the grossly jealous type, but they’re still bound to get hurt, and that’s the last thing he wants. 

“You want me to talk with your girlfriends.”

He nods. “Yeah. Of course, I’d like to be there too, but yeah.”

“Your girlfriends aren’t my biggest fans, Mateo,” she says.

“They’re protective, Kate.” He squeezes her hand. “Look, the four of us need to talk and unhash things sooner rather than later because…”

Because she still loves him. Because he still loves her. Because he hasn’t quite moved on as much as he likes to pretend that he has. Because he wears his heart on his sleeve and he can’t stand to see the people he loves getting hurt because of him. 

“Because it’s just better for all of us if we do,” he finally says.

He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. Not Alex. Not Lucy. Not Kate.

Kate bites her lip. “Okay,” she eventually says. “How about dinner tonight, my place?”

He blinks. He’s been around long enough to know when to read between the lines in order to understand just what she’s offering. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

Kate brings his hand to her lips and brushes them across his knuckles. It makes his stomach flutter and his cheek burn. 

“I’m sure,” she says. 

He presses his forehead to hers. “Thank you.” 

It’s not quite what he wants to say, and he thinks that Kate knows that, but they both know that’s it’s better than nothing. There’s so much that needs to be talked about and worked through before he can blurt out what he wants to blurt out.

She squeezes his hand three times. “I’ve missed you, ‘Teo.”

A soft sigh. “I’ve missed you too, Kate.”

Whatever it is she’s about to say is cut off by a dull thud. They quickly pull apart. 

Mateo blindly reaches left and grabs a bag of something. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kate do the same thing.

The door creaks in protest. Then, it comes crashing down, sans a doorknob and hinges, to reveal Alex and Vasquez’s grinning faces. Behind them, Mateo can see Lucy pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. 

Vasquez high-fives Alex. “Told you it would work, Director,” they say over their shoulder to Lucy.

Lucy just massages the side of her head. From the distance he’s at, Mateo can hear grumbling along the lines of,  _ “I knew it was a bad idea to have them both on the same mission.” _

Alex stands. “You alright, Sawyer?” she asks. 

“Just fine.” He holds up the random bag he pulled. “I found…chocos.”

“My chocos?” Covington asks from behind Alex.

Mateo opens the bag and pulls one out. “You mean these?” He promptly shoves it in his mouth. “Mmhm!”  

“Goddammit, Sawyer!”

He just grins and flips Covington off in response. 

A bag of coffee beans gets thrust in front of his face. “I have coffee for you, Captain Danvers,” she says. “I’ll get started on a pot.”

Vasquez whoops while Alex grins. It’s obvious that they’ve both gotten hooked on the precinct coffee. Mateo has a feeling that either his suitcase or Alex’s suitcase, or both, will be full of those same coffee beans by the time they leave Gotham. 

Kate pushes past him. She pauses for the barest of seconds to raise an eyebrow at him before flicking a quick glance at Alex and Lucy that likely goes unseen by either woman.

He gives a barely imperceptible nod before she’s gone down the hall towards the squadroom, with Alex and Vasquez on her heels. 

Lucy walks into the closet once Kate is down the hall. 

“You sure you’re alright?” she asks. 

Mateo smiles and takes her hand. “I’m perfect, Luce,” he says. 

She looks at him for several moments. He figures it’s to try and see if he’s telling the complete truth. Then, she nods and steps closer to press her forehead to his. 

“Okay,” she says.

-

When they get back to the squadroom, Alex is on her third cup of coffee and Vasquez is chugging what looks to be their second. Kate looks concerned while Covington has an undisguised look of awe on his face.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Mateo asks.

“More like concerning,” Kate mutters back. “How can she drink so much of it?”

He shrugs. “She’s an MD/PhD and a super secret agent,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Covington whistles, “Daaaamn.”

Mateo hums his agreement. He can’t stop the yawn that rises a few moments later.

“Aw, c’mon, Sawyer, you’ve only been in Gotham five hours,” Covington teases.

Mateo flips him off. “I’ve been up since two, pendejo,” he snarks. 

Kate snorts while Covington gapes at him.

“Jesus fuck, why so early?” Covington asks.

“Paperwork.”

Both Kate and Covington grimace. 

“Which you wouldn’t have had to get up early to do if you’d just filled it out the night before,” Lucy says as she sits down next to him.

Mateo pouts. “But it’s paperwork.”

“I’m a lawyer, I’m very well aware of what paperwork is, Sawyer.”

Mateo sees Kate mouth,  _ ‘lawyer _ ?’ He drums his fingers against the desk in confirmation. 

“Regardless, I will agree that you’ve been up early and that we should probably break,” Lucy continues. She eyes Alex and the steadily growing mountain of finished coffee cops. “At least for food, otherwise Danvers is going to be bitching about stomach ulcers the entire case.”

Mateo flicks a glance at Kate. 

Kate clears her throat. “Detective Sawyer, would you, Director Lane, and Captain Danvers like to join me for dinner tonight?”

Mateo stomps on Covington’s foot before his former partner can say anything, then glances at Lucy and Alex. Alex looks curious, while Lucy has a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you both open to dinner tonight?” he asks. 

“Depends, is Kate buying?” Alex asks.

“Of course, Captain,” she says, “I’m not a completely heathen. I could even be convinced to cook.”

“Do you make this offer to every group of federal agents that comes through Gotham?” Lucy asks.

“Only the ones led by a set of beautiful and accomplished ladies.” The smirk that Kate gives Lucy is positively salacious.

To Mateo’s surprise, Lucy’s cheeks turn pink even as she returns the smirk. 

“Well, I’m never one to turn down free dinner,” Lucy says. “Dunno about Danvers, though.”

Translation: if my other girlfriend says no, than no.

“I’m down.” Alex eyes Kate. Mateo can see the wheels turning in her head. “Something tells me it’ll be enjoyable.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so,” Kate says.

The sound of Covington’s phone snapping shut breaks the mood that’s been building. “Dinner’s gonna have to wait,” he says. “Another body just dropped. Alien.”

He looks at Lucy. “I assume your people would like to join us on scene, Director?”

Lucy tips her head, suddenly right back to business. “Of course, Sergeant,” she says.

Covington glances at Mateo. “You better be coming too, Sawyer.”

Mateo hops off the corner of the desk that used to be his. “You know it.” 

Covington nods, before turning his attention back to Lucy. “Director Lane, I’ll meet your team out back in the garage,” he says.

Lucy nods. “Understood.” She doesn’t even spare a glance to the rest of the team as they quickly pack up their gear and arrange themselves. “Move out!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Mateo fistbumps Covington as he passes by. “Just like old times,” he says.

Covington grins. “Fuck yeah.” He pauses to glance over his shoulder. “You coming, Kane?”

“I’ll be right there, I just have to make a call,” she says. 

Mateo hides his smile. He knows exactly what that means.

-

Dinner winds up getting pushed back until the next night due to the mountain of new evidence both the DEO and Precinct 47 have to go through. By the time dinner finally rolls around, she’s about fourteen hours into a Maggie day and craving Kate’s cooking. 

She’s wearing her nicest shirt, with her trademark leather jacket on top, as she goes to knock on Kate’s door. It feels so foreign to have to knock on the door to an apartment that used to be hers.

“I can’t believe Batwoman showed up at the crime scene,” she hears Alex say behind her. 

Maggie glances over her shoulder and grins. “That’s just how Gotham is sometimes, Danvers,” she says.

“It’s a shame that Kane missed her,” Lucy remarks. “Batwoman is  _ hot _ .”

Kate had shown up right after Batwoman had left, short of breath and windswept.

Maggie’s grin widens. “She definitely is.”

She hears the clunk of a door unlocking and quickly takes a step back. Lucy and Alex’s hands slip into hers. 

The door opens. The sight that greets them is Kate Kane in a crisp black apron. Her  red hair glows in the evening sunlight that streams into her apartment behind her. 

She’s breathtaking, as always.

She smiles at the three of them. “Director Lane, Captain Danvers, Detective Sawyer,” she greets. “How are you?”

Maggie smiles. “Doing just fine,” she says.

And she means it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup these are all coming out of order now. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed. Don't forget to leave a comment (a comment w/ the word kudos counts as a comment ^_^) and feel free to say hi on Tumblr @sandstonesunspear


	7. Storm - Director Sanvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when you're stuck in the middle of the ocean during a raging storm with Reapers falling faster than you can kill them, and the only way home might be an unknown alien species that orchestrated the death of a scientist just weeks earlier? 
> 
> Obviously, if you're Cmdr. Alex Danvers, you hop into an ancient deep-sea diving mech and go down into the ocean to meet them. 
> 
> Lucy and Maggie Do Not Approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, these are officially out of order now. 
> 
> Mass Effect!AU, feat. Cmdr. Shepard!Alex, LtCmdr. Ashley Williams!Lucy, Dr. Liara T'Soni!Maggie, and beleaguered shuttle pilot Cortez!Vasquez

**_2181 Desponia_ **

Alex stared out to the stormy seas that surrounded her. Rain lashed at her armour. She reached up and wiped rain of her face. 

“Vasquez, how long until the shuttle repairs are completed?” she asked over her shoulder.

There was some clanging, followed by a loud pop. She closed her eyes when Vasquez immediately started swearing up a storm.

“It’s gonna be a bit, Commander,” they said. “Whatever that pulse was, it fried a few systems.”

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. Thunder rumbled up above, as if the sky itself was expressing an annoyance similar to what she was feeling. 

“Can you fix it?” she asked.

She heard Vasquez scoff. “Have you met me?” they asked. “Of course I can, I’m just gonna need like an hour or two.”

The sky rumbled again. It sounded different than before, catching Alex’s attention. She glanced up to see fireballs falling from the sky. Her jaw clenched. She knew exactly what those were.

“You have 30 minutes,” she said. 

-

Alex charged into another Brute and quickly rolled back as the sound of a biotic explosion reached her ears. It was accompanied by a thunder crack from the sky half a second later. 

She heard the moan of a Husk behind her. Before she could even take half a step back to regroup, a streak of red whizzed right past her and connected with the Husk, sending it flying back.

“A little too close for comfort, Luce!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Quit your bitching and move, then!” the sniper shouted back.

Alex did just that. She saw another blue projectile hit a Cannibal. She took off towards it, setting off another explosion when she connected.

“Vas, how are those repairs coming!” she shouted over her shoulder.

_ “I’M STILL WORKING ON IT!”  _

Alex unloaded her clip into an unlucky Cannibal who had come up to feast on its fallen friend.

“Is contacting the Normandy an option?” Alex heard Maggie ask over their shared radio.

Even though she was halfway across the battlefield, Alex still heard Vasquez scoff.

Vasquez’s voice crackled through, “Are you kidding, Sawyer? The same thing would happen to her, but the landing wouldn’t be nearly as pretty as ours was.”

Alex looked at the giant skid mark that marred the surface of the Ballard-class ship they were currently fighting on. If Vasquez considered that landing pretty, she didn’t want to know what they thought an ugly landing would look like. 

A small mob of Husks started groaning. They didn’t make it very far before a Singularity, courtesy of Maggie, had them airborne. Alex brought her fist up and leapt, unleashing a furious Nova that shredded the Husks. 

She wrinkled her nose as Husk guts splattered against her armour. She could already see herself down in the cargo bay for hours cleaning her armour. That was, of course, assuming she and her squad ever got off this godforsaken rig and planet.

_ “Commander, might want to pull back!” _

Alex glanced at the Reaper forces that were gathering at the far end of the ship. She raised her gauntlet to her lips.

“On my way.”

She was gone in a flash of blue.

-

Alex wiped rain water off her face. “Alright, talk to me Vas, any improvements in our situation?” she asked.

Vasquez shook their head. “Unfortunately no. The shuttle’s still a no go. We’re not going anywhere,” they said grimly. 

Lucy glanced over the small barricade that they were all crouched behind for cover. Alex saw her grimace. 

“We sure that we can’t just call the Normandy down?” Lucy asked.

Alex looked at the shuttle that had brought them onto this stormy planet. Said storm was growing worse. She knew that the Normandy has flown in some pretty rough conditions before, but this storm and this planet were something else. Even if they didn’t have the pulse to worry about, something told her that the Normandy entering the atmosphere wouldn’t end well. 

“I’m not going to risk it,” she ultimately said. “I’ve already lost the Normandy once. I’m not losing her again.”

_ I’m not putting you and Maggie at risk again, either. Not like that.  _

“Vas, I need a new plan,” Alex said.

Vasquez looked to their right. Alex followed their gaze to see another mech.

“You use that thing, Commander,” they said. “It’s pretty outdated compared to what the Alliance normally uses, but if the seawater hasn’t completely corroded the seals on it, you should be able to use it to get down to where the last signal pinged.”

Alex stared at them. “Go underwater. In that thing?” she asked, incredulous. 

Vasquez shrugged. “From what I can tell, it’s an old Triton model. Old as it is, it can handle the depths. It won’t be easy, but there’s really no other option here, Commander.”

From Alex remembered, older diving mechs had one major flaw: their clunky nature meant they were only really supposed to be deployed when the seas were calm. These seas were anything  _ but _ calm. Still, it was better than nothing. The way home was through Leviathan, and they weren’t getting off this planet unless they found it.

Alex stood. “Well, if that’s what we have to do, I’m in,” she said. “Let’s get started.”

She heard Lucy make a noise of alarm. 

“Wait a minute here, are we actually seriously considering…” Lucy started.

Vasquez hopped onto the platform where the shuttle was. “First, we’ll need to restore power to get those cargo doors open.”

“I guess we are,” Maggie muttered.

Alex ignored both of her lovers. “How?” she asked.

“These old Ballard-class ships have exterior power sockets for emergency repairs,” Vasquez said. “We can strip the backup cells from the shuttle and use them for juice. Give me a sec to grab a set.”

They disappeared into the shuttle, leaving Alex standing alone with Lucy and Maggie.

“Alex, are you sure about this?” Maggie asked.

Vasquez emerged with two large power cells. “Here you go, Commander.” They handed the cells to Alex.

Alex quickly holstered her shotgun and grabbed them. “Not really, but at this point, I don’t see another option,” she said.

She turned on her heel and flashed away in a streak of blue to the nearest power socket before either Maggie or Lucy could say anything else.

-

“Alex, you know I’m all for crazy ideas but this one’s off the charts!” Lucy shouted over the sound of her Lancer ripping through Husks.

Alex climbed into the mech. “I know!” she shouted back. “But there’s no other choice!”

Reaper forces were falling faster and faster. If there really was a Reaper killer beneath the waves, she had to find it. Now. Otherwise, they were all as good as dead and the war would all but lost.

She pulled the cockpit shut. She didn’t miss the helpless look Lucy and Maggie shared. It made her stomach clench. She hated that she was the reason for that look. She remembered the last time she had seen that look: right before she had died the first time. 

She clicked the comms to sync back up with Maggie’s and Lucy’s. “I’ll be okay,” she said.

Maggie threw up a barrier to keep a swarm of Husks from closing in and looked back at her. “Come back to us,” she said.

Alex nodded, even though neither woman would be able to see it through the reinforced glass.

“I will.”

Then she was gone beneath the waves.

-

Alex had to remind herself to breathe as she sank down into the depths. She grit her teeth the mech shuddered around her due to the storm raging above.

_ “How’s it holding up, Commander?”  _ Vasquez’s voice crackled through the comms.

“Good so far.” She had to fight to keep her voice even. She had grown up on the beaches of Midvale and surfed in weather that most people would pale at, but that wasn’t enough to stop her stomach from rising to her throat.

_ “I’m getting some comm interference on this end. Hang on.” _

Alex frowned. “Copy that,” she said.

_ “Commander, can you read me? We’re losing your signal. Something’s blocking your comm. Please respond.” _

“I can read you, but it’s getting harder by the minute, over,” she said.

_ “Alex? Alex can you hear us? Alex can you respond?”  _ Lucy’s voice this time. There was a note of desperation in it that Alex hadn’t heard since the Battle of the Citadel.

“Yeah, I read you, Luce. Do you read me?”

_ “Alex! A--ex, res--d!”  _ Maggie’s voice was just as desperate as Lucy’s was.

Alex’s frown deepened. She tried to clear up the interference but to no avail. The static grew worse and worse until there was nothing but silence.

-

With nothing but silence and dark ocean water for company, Alex had no idea how long it took for her to reach the bottom. She grunted when the mech’s legs touched the ground. Right around the same time, she heard one of the light’s on the mech crack from the pressure.

She sighed and fired a flare. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Giant, bioluminescent jellyfish floated in the distance. A giant piece of something was just a little further away. The xenobiologist in her was in awe, but quickly tamped down by the soldier in her. She was on a mission. She needed to get it done before she, and by extent Maggie and Lucy, were dead.

She queued up her omni-tool while also reopening her comm channels. She might be on a mission, but she was sure as hell going to record this for posterity.

Alex slowly started walking forward. “Not sure if you can read me up there, but it looks like I’ve finished the major descent. There appear to be some large bioluminescent organisms down here, but the visuals aren’t that great,” she said. “The suit’s...holding up.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. It had survived the descent down, though whether it would stay that way with the way the pressure gage was starting to creep into its upper limits was beyond her.

“Emergency systems have come online. Life support is operational.”

She tapped away on the on-screen display and frowned. That couldn’t be right.

“Scanner’s indicating that the probe is...below my position. I’m gonna look for a way down.”

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to go much deeper. She doubted the mech would be able to handle it.

She came to a small ledge. She took a breath and leapt down. She exhaled harshly as the mech connected with the ocean floor. 

Alarms started to beep. 

She glanced at the depth indicator and winced. 

3100 m.

“Shutting down all noncritical systems to preserve remaining power for the emergency thrusters.” She tapped her gauntlet. “Also redirecting armour systems for emergency life support.”

She figured that, in the event the mech did crack, the move would give her at least an extra 30 seconds before the ocean’s pressure crushed her and her armour like a soda can. She couldn’t worry about it now, though. Right now, she had to keep moving.

Alex did her best to ignore the depth gage as she continued her way down. She only had so much oxygen. She wouldn’t be doing herself any favours hyperventilating because of how deep she was going.

“Getting some strange readings from the probe. There’s something definitely down there.” She hoped it was Leviathan. “Mags, Luce, I really wish y’all were with me right now.”

She would give anything just to be able to hear their voices right now.

It wasn’t long before Alex came to yet another ledge. She rechecked her scanner readings, then let out a frustrated breath.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbled. “All right, readings are putting the probe directly beneath me. Looks like I’ve got one more drop before I get there. Wish me luck.”

There was no response, not that she expected one.

She maneuvered the mech and slipped down into the chasm. Even though the descent was slower than the first one she had made, Alex still had to resist the urge to use her thrusters to slow it even further. She needed every ounce of energy she could get in order to make it back up. 

She grunted again when the mech landed. The alarms sounded again, louder this time.

She heard a small little echo, almost like a whale cry. She looked up to see the probe.

“Found the probe. Looks relatively intact.” A surprising fact, given the depth she and it were at. “I’m gonna keep moving, though. See if I can--”

A thunderous rumble cut her off. She looked up to see bubbles rising.

“The hell is that?”

Alex made her way forward about three steps, before she froze. There, emerging from the cracks, was something huge.

_ God, please let this be Leviathan.  _

She watched as not one, but three, figures rose up before her. 

_ ‘You have come too far.’  _

It took Alex a moment to realise their voices weren’t coming from her comms. They were coming from her mind. Before she could react, she found herself standing in an endless void.

_ The fuck? _

She closed her eyes in an attempt to focus. When she reopened them, she was back in the cockpit of the mech.

“I had to find you,” she said.

_ ‘This is not your domain. You have breached the darkness.’ _

Alex glared at it. “You killed a Reaper! I need to know why!”

_ ‘They are the enemy. One that seeks our extermination.’ _

“Yeah, that’s kind of their whole shtick. It’s in the name,” Alex said. Then what Leviathan said registered fully with her brain. “Wait, I thought  _ you  _ were a Reaper.”

After all, what else could kill a Reaper, other than another Reaper?

_ ‘They are only echoes. We existed long before.’ _

“Then what are you?” she asked.

_ ‘Something more.’ _

A massive pressure inside her skull was the only warning she had before she found herself back in the void. This time, she was knee deep in dark stormy waters.

Alex crumpled to her knees and retched.

“Your mind belongs to me,” Leviathan's voice thundered. “Now breathe.”

She looked up blearily to see Lena walking towards her.

Alex swayed as she rose to her feet. “Lena?” she slurred out. “What’s going on?”

Lena opened her mouth, but the voice that came out was entirely Leviathan’s. “Your memories give voice to our words. Your nature will be revealed to us. Accept this.”

Alex didn’t have time for this. She shook her head to clear it. “The galaxy’s at war with the Reapers,” she said. “You defeated one, so why aren’t you fighting back?”

Leviathan shook its head. “There is no war, only the harvest,” it said.

“Then help us stop it!”

“None have possessed the strength in past cycles.” Alex turned around to see Winn coming up behind her. “Your own species could be destroyed with a single thought.”

Leviathan changed into the man who had been impersonating her father. “But you are different,” it said. “I have witnessed your actions in this cycle: the destruction of Sovereign, the fall of the Collectors. The Reapers perceive you as a threat.”

Fake-Jeremiah turned back into Lena and looked into a microscope. “I must understand why.”

Alex grit her teeth and pushed back against the force in her mind. She wasn’t going to be trapped in her own mind, communicating with cheap imitations derived from her memories. She had come down here to speak with Leviathan itself and she was going to do just that.

A few moments later, she gasped. Her vision swam as she looked around the cockpit. She felt something trail down from her nose. She had a feeling it was blood. 

She looked up at Leviathan for half a second before the pressure returned and forced her back into the void.

She and Leviathan had moved from knee deep waters to a beach with pitch black sand, surrounded by the same dark waters as before. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Leviathan, back in Winn’s form, sat next to her. “Before the cycles, our kind was the apex of life in the galaxy,” it said, staring out at the ocean. “The lesser species were our thralls, serving our needs.”

The cliffside from Namakli took shape. 

“We grew more powerful,” it continued, “and they were cared for. But we could not protect them from themselves. Over time, the species built machines that then destroyed them.”

“And that’s a problem,” Alex said.

Leviathan nodded. “Yes, tribute does not flow from a dead race,” it said. “To solve that problem, we created an intelligence with the mandate to preserve life at any cost.”

“Well that backfired spectacularly.”

Leviathan shifted into Lena’s form right before her eyes. It was unnerving, having Lena’s gaze bore into hers while knowing that the woman before her wasn’t the same scientist she had saved just weeks earlier.

“The intelligence evolved,” it said simply. “It studied the development of civilisations, and it’s understanding grew until it found a solution.”

“I can guess what solution was.”

Lena-Leviathan stopped and morphed into real-Jeremiah this time. It turned around. The grief in its face was so much like her father’s, it made Alex take a step back.

“Yes, in that instant, it betrayed us,” it said. “It chose our kind as the first harvest and from our essence, the first Reaper was created. You call it Harbinger.”

Alex couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Let me get this straight, you built a machine to solve your problems despite what you saw happen to the other races,” she said. “Why?”

If Leviathan was really “more” as it claimed to be, how could it not have seen such a betrayal coming?

Lena-Leviathan looked up. Alex followed its gaze to see countless planets descending from the storm clouds above them.

“You cannot conceive of a galaxy that bends to your will,” it said. “Every creature, every nation, every planet we discovered became our tools. We were above the concerns of lesser species. As such, the Intelligence was simply another tool.”

Now Alex could see where Sovereign and the other Reapers got their dismissive attitude from. 

She scoffed. “And now we’re all paying the price for your fucking mistake.”

“There was no mistake. It still serves its purpose.”

“You consider the slaughter of trillions of people over countless millennia as it fulfilling its purpose?” Alex demanded. “Are you kidding me?”

“Each harvest ends with the birth of something new, something that represents the endless search for a solution to that slaughter.”

“You mean a Reaper,” Alex said.

“Yes. It is perfect in its design, each formed in Harbinger’s image. Our image.” Lena-Leviathan tapped the side of its head. “Each has the power to influence organics. Over countless cycles, this ability was refined, perfected, and gave rise to what you call indoctrination.”

“You made the Intelligence, so there has to be a way to stop it, a way to stop these cycles,” Alex said. 

“We do not know. The Intelligence has one purpose: preserve life. Until it finds a way to do that, the harvest will continue,” it said.

Alex ran a hand through her hair. “Will you at least help us try to stop it?” she asked.

It’s lips twitched into something resembling a small, grim smile. “I have searched your mind. You are an anomaly, yet that is not enough.”

It started to walk away, but Alex reached out and gripped its arm tightly, forcing it to stop.

“Wait!”

It’s head snapped back to look at her. “The cycle will continue,” it said coldly.

Alex thought about Lucy and Maggie and how hard the two of them had fought. How hard they were fighting, just to make sure that they could all see the end of this damned war. If the women she loved were going to fight that hard, then she refused to accept Leviathan’s own refusal to join the conflict.

“No,” she growled. “You’ve had to have been watching this cycle. You know that this cycle is different.”

“We will survive. You will remain here as a servant to our needs. The Reapers will harvest the rest.”

Like hell.

Alex’s grip tightened around its arm. “You release me, and no one else has to be harvested,” she said.

“Nothing will change.”

Thunder rumbled above them.

“The Reaper forces know where you are,” Alex said. “You can’t just keep watching anymore, you have to fight!”

Seeing no reaction from it, she tried a different angle, “The Reapers are your mess! The destruction of your race, that’s on you, but you can help us fix it. You can help us fight. You can help us stop the cycle from progressing.”

There was still no reaction from Leviathan. 

Alex clenched her jaw. “Even if you survive the battle today, the Reapers won’t stop. Ever. Release me, and we have a chance to stop this once and for all,” she said.

More silence from Leviathan. It turned away from her, then it vanished. 

Alex blinked. She looked up when even more thunder started to rumble. She flinched and instinctively closed her eyes when a crack of lightning ripped through the air.

“Your confidence is singular,” Leviathan’s voice echoed from behind her.

Alex opened her eyes. “I’ve earned it out there fighting, where you should be,” she shot back.

Warm laughter rang out. 

Alex turned to see a memory of her with Maggie and Lucy. Maggie and Lucy were both smiling, eyes warm. The smile she was giving them was equally as warm. Despite the storm she found herself standing in the middle of, Alex found herself smiling right alongside her memory. 

The memory shifted to her at the end of the Charge, colliding with a hapless Cannibal caught up in one of Maggie’s Singularities. Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw Leviathan nod.

“It is clear why the Reapers perceive you as a threat. Your victories are more than a product of chance,” it said. “We see that there is more to you than most of your species. We will fight, but not for you or any lesser race. We were the first, the apex race. We will survive.”

“And the Reapers?” she asked.

“Those who trespass on this world will understand our power. They will become our slaves.” Its eyes started to glow. “Today, they pay their tribute in blood.”

Leviathan reached up and touched Alex’s face. She grit her teeth to fight back a cry of agony as pain raced through her skull.

Everything went mercifully black moments later.

-

Alex came to with a gasp to the sound of alarms going mad. She blinked twice before quickly tapping away at the onscreen display. It was time to get back to the surface, back to Lucy and Maggie.

She fired up the emergency thrusters, ignoring the way her biotics wisped across her armour. She would worry about it later. 

_ ‘You will be the storm that heralds our arrival.’ _

Alex had no time to process just what that meant before she was shooting up towards the surface.

-

Every shot Lucy’s Black Widow rifle cracked out seemed to echo right alongside the bursts of thunder in the sky. 

“How long has Alex been down there?” she shouted.

Maggie threw a Warp at her Singularity, setting off an explosion that staggered the Brute. “Too long!” she yelled back. “Vasquez!”

“Still working on it!”

“You said that five minutes ago!” Maggie shouted.

_ “AND I’M STILL WORKING ON IT!!” _

The loudest crack of thunder yet shook the entire ship right as the sound of something emerging from the sea caught both Maggie and Lucy’s attentions. Maggie turned to see the Triton mech slowly shambling its way across the deck. It took two steps before coming to a halt. The cockpit cracked open and out slipped Alex.

Maggie and Lucy both watched in horror as Alex tried and failed to get back on to her feet. 

“Shit, Sawyer!” she heard Vasquez call out.

“I see it! I see it!” Alex’s return had caught the attention of the horde of Brutes, and she was in no condition to fight back. “Lucy!”

Lucy primed her rifle. “Go get our girl, Mags, I’ll cover you!”

Maggie was off like a shot. The driving rain stung her eyes but she did her best to ignore it. Alex was her priority right now. She might not have been a Vanguard like Alex was, but she had enough control over her biotics to zip around the battlefield almost as fast. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mech go crashing backwards into the sea. She felt her stomach drop at the sight; if Alex had been in that, there would have been no way she or Lucy could get to Alex in time. 

“Mags, on your right!”

Maggie swung her hand and threw up a barrier that sent a Cannibal flying across the deck, into the raging sea. She slid the last few paces to get to Alex’s side and put up another barrier around the two of them just in time for a Brute’s claw to slam into it.

The Brute stumbled back. To Maggie’s dismay, though, it recovered faster than she would have liked it to. Before she knew it, the Brute’s claw was raised again, ready to strike.

Maggie grit her teeth and poured everything she had into her barrier. It wasn’t going to get Alex, not if she had anything to say about it.

The Brute swung down again. Maggie braced herself for the impact, only for the Brute to freeze in its place. The Brute behind it paused too, as if it was confused about why its fellow had stopped. The next thing Maggie knew, the Brute in front of her swung around and slammed into the one behind it.

Maggie blinked. It was an unexpected turn of events, but not unwelcome. She glanced back at Alex, who was by now had made it to her knees, but was otherwise still very much unfit for combat. She quickly dropped her barrier and picked Alex up. She wasn’t going to stick around while the Brutes fought, especially not when Alex needed to get back on to the Normandy.

“I’ve got Alex! Vas, status?” she yelled into her comm.

_ “We’re good to go!”  _ Maggie looked up to see the shuttle up in the air and coming back around for a pick up.  _ “Dunno what the Commander did, but the pulse is offline!” _

The warring Brutes came crashing down in front of Maggie. She threw a biotic barrier around her and Alex and used the rest of her biotics to quickly slide them across the deck.

She skid right past Lucy just as the shuttle came down. She dropped Alex inside while Lucy continued to provide covering fire.

“Lucy! C’mon!” 

Lucy fired off three more shots then jumped into the shuttle. “Vasquez, get us out of here!” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am!”

Maggie braced herself as Vasquez punched it. She reached out and used her biotics to keep Lucy from falling over.

Lucy crouched down next to Maggie. “What’s Alex’s status?” she asked.

Maggie quickly waved her omni-tool over Alex. “Fuck, she’s freezing,” she said.

Lucy nodded. “She’s likely hypothermic. Get her out of her armour.” She looked towards the cockpit. “Vas, are there any blankets in this thing?”

“Yeah, check the bulkhead!” the pilot called back.

Maggie worked fast to get Alex out of her armour while Lucy went to grab blankets. She flinched at how cold Alex’s skin and armour were to the touch. She pressed Alex’s seals as quickly as she could to pull off Alex’s armour. 

By the time Lucy was back at her side, Maggie had managed to strip Alex down. She drew up her biotics as Lucy wrapped Alex in a blanket.

“What’re the biotics for, Maggie?” Lucy asked.

“Biotics are energy, and energy means heat. If I can get a barrier around Alex, it should promote heat generation for her,” she said.

Lucy nodded. “That’s a smart idea.”

Alex suddenly sat up coughing. Blood dripped down her nose.

“Get her in the recovery position so she doesn’t choke!” Maggie ordered.

Lucy quickly rolled Alex onto her side. 

Alex retched, but nothing came up. She continued to cough and dry heave while Lucy rubbed her back.

“Alex, can you hear us?” Lucy asked. “It’s okay, you’re on the shuttle, we’re headed back to the Normandy now.”

Alex slurred out something incomprehensible.

Maggie and Lucy traded looks. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Vasquez, radio the Normandy and let Henderson know that we have a hypothermic patient inbound, and have her prepare for a possible barometric emergency,” Lucy said.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” The fact that Vasquez was all business right now instead of their usual dry, sarcastic self, was a sign of just how worried they were as well.

_ “SSV Normandy, this is Lieutenant Vasquez, we are returning with Commander Danvers, inbound ETA five minutes, have the medbay prepare for a hypothermic patient with a possible barometric emergency…” _

Maggie ran her fingers through Alex’s hair. “She’s gonna be okay,” she said. 

She didn’t know who she was trying to convince: herself, Lucy, or the both of them.

Lucy held Alex tighter. “She damn well better be.”

Neither of them could handle losing Alex. Not again.

-

Alex noticed three things when she came to. First, she was laying on something much more comfortable than the medbay tables. Second, she was warmer than normal. And third, something was tickling her face.

She wrinkled her nose. “Mmmph,” she grumbled. “The fuck hit me?”

The tickling sensation vanished almost immediately. She felt the surface she was laying on shift as someone, or someones, quickly got up.

“Alex!” Lucy’s voice.

“Oh, thank god!” Maggie’s voice.

As much as she loved hearing the both of them, Alex still winced at the volume. She blearily opened her eyes to see her lovers on either side of her, but quickly regretted the move as pain lanced through her skull.

“Mmph...too loud,” she mumbled. “Bright.”

The beeping of fingers across an omni-tool signaled that someone was turning the lights down. She counted to three then cautiously reopened her eyes.

“Better?” Lucy asked, voice soft.

“Yeah.” Alex looked left, then right. “Why are we in my cabin?”

The bed shifted again as Maggie sat back down next to her. “Because it’s the only area of the ship that could be pressurised in excess without impacting the crew,” she said. 

So they had turned her cabin into an improvised barometric chamber. Nice.

“Guessing it’s since been pressurised back to normal?” Alex asked.

She saw Lucy nod. The bed dipped as Lucy came to sit on the other side of her.

“Yeah,” Lucy said. “Brainy and Henderson started yesterday. They took it slow because they weren’t 100% sure how your body would react given...everything.”

Maggie started to run her fingers through Alex’s hair. “Speaking of which, how’re you feeling?” she asked.

Alex closed her eyes at the feel of Maggie’s fingers carding through her short-cropped hair. “‘M fine,” she mumbled. “Hell of a headache, though.”

She found Lucy’s lips on hers moments later. She made a small noise of surprise at how hard Lucy kissed her, but she kissed back nonetheless. 

Lucy ended the kiss far sooner than Alex would have liked. Before she could voice her displeasure, Maggie was kissing her. If she thought Lucy’s kiss had been hard, Maggie’s was bruising, almost desperate. 

This time, Alex was the one to pull away first when she tasted salt on her lips. She looked up to see tears starting to roll down Maggie’s face. She reached up to wipe them away while Lucy reached out and took Maggie’s hand.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Maggie whispered.

The sheer pain in her voice made Alex’s voice clench. It reminded her of the first time she had seen Maggie following her revival. She hated knowing that she was the cause of that pain. She and Maggie were the same kind of people: scientists turned soldiers. The only difference was that Alex had been a soldier far longer than Maggie had.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What happened down there, Alex?” Lucy asked.

She looked at Lucy. “We found it,” she said.

“Leviathan?” Lucy asked.

Alex nodded. “Yeah. It’s real, and it’s a lot more than we ever imagined.”

She glanced back at Maggie when she heard her swallow.

She watched Maggie wipe her eyes. “Was, was it worth almost dying for?” Maggie asked.

Alex’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, it was,” she said truthfully. She didn’t miss how Lucy’s grip tightened. “We exposed it, pushed it into the light. Whether it likes it or not, it’s part of the war now.”

“You think it’ll help?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah. They don’t have a choice. This war is everywhere,” she said.

The Reapers were in just about every system now. Every species was fighting for their very existence. They were giving it their all just so that they could see another day.

“That’s amazing,” Lucy said.

Alex’s lips twitched into a small grin. “It’s definitely gonna be one for the history books.”

Maggie sighed. She laid down next to Alex and wrapped an arm around her waist. Half a beat later, Lucy did the same thing. Alex closed her eyes at the feel of the two of them around her. 

She felt Lucy start to rub small circles on the back of her hand. “We’re so glad you made it back, Alex,” Lucy whispered.

“I am too. Being down there by myself was…” Alex trailed off.

Maggie kissed her shoulder. “You’re back up here now, with us,” she said. “You’re back.”

Alex smiled a full smile this time. “Yeah, I am.” She yawned. “God, I’m tired.”

Her head was still killing her and her body felt like she had been hit by a Mako.

Lucy brought her hand up to play with Alex’s hair. “You should get some more sleep,” she said.

Sleep was the last thing Alex wanted right now. It wasn’t because she had spent what appeared to be the past several days asleep, but rather because she was afraid of the inevitable nightmares. 

Her face must have said as much, because Maggie came up and kissed the side of her head while Lucy gave her hand a squeeze.

“We’re right here, Alex. We’ve got you,” Maggie whispered.

Alex nodded. She could already feel the exhaustion starting to reassert itself. “Love…’ou,” she mumbled.

Twin kisses to either side of her head.

“We love you too, babe.”

Alex’s eyes slipped shut.   

For the first time in ages, her sleep was uninterrupted by nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment (even if it's just the word kudos) to let me know what you thought and feel free to come say hi @sandstonesunspear on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Days 1-3 will probably show up towards the end.


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